


Hermione Granger and the Chamber of Secrets

by SaraSmile416



Series: Hermione Granger Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, Gen, Heir of Slytherin, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hermione Granger-centric, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts Second Year, POV Female Character, POV Hermione Granger, The Golden Trio, Transfiguration (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28089573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraSmile416/pseuds/SaraSmile416
Summary: Behind every "boy who lives" is a "girl who reads." Everyone knows the story of Harry Potter, the boy who lived, but what they don't know is that Hermione Granger is the only reason he continued to live past his 11th year. During their second year at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger is being hunted by a monster so terrifying, no one knows what it is... Hermione is smart enough to figure it out, but are her friends smart enough to realize what she holds in her hands?
Series: Hermione Granger Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559545
Comments: 85
Kudos: 145





	1. The Summer of the Post

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. Please don't sue me!
> 
> This is a retelling of the first Harry Potter book from the point of view of the clever and brave Hermoine Granger. As such, in future chapters, I have woven some of Rowling’s original text into my own thoughts and words. This is in order to stay true to the original text, but also allow for the exploration of how things surrounding the Chosen One unfolded from Hermoine’s involvement. There will be both descriptions, as well as dialogue, that may be familiar to readers. Again, I do not own this book or these characters, I am simply expounding on the canon events... please don't sue me.
> 
> Also, this book is FINISHED but I am working with some friends to proofread it. Please keep in mind the following facts:  
> 1.) I am not British, nor do I claim to be. I tried my best to make this as British as possible. If my best is not good enough for you, you can move on.  
> 2.) I did this for fun. I had no idea what fanfiction was before I got drunk and decided it was a brilliant idea to rewrite all 7 books from Hermione's perspective. I started this project with my friends and family as the only readers in my mind. If you're not having fun and would like to critique something in these 80k words, you can move on.  
> 3.) I poured over the books, wikis, and any other source material I could. There are going to be errors with the canon. I can guarantee it. However, I'd like to believe the number of non-errors far outweigh the errors and you should try focusing on that.

_For Finn, Samantha Zoe, and Kauleen._

**Chapter One: The Summer of the Post**

Life in Lavenham, Suffolk was dreadfully boring. At least that’s how it felt to Hermione Jean Granger. She couldn’t help but feel that her life in the small, quaint English town was like a broken record of the worst sort. She’d wake up, eat breakfast (always consisting of some sort of combination of egg, tomatoes, beans, and sausage), go to the library to study, come home, wait for the post, eat dinner with her parents, study some more, go to sleep, and then repeat it all the following day. There was no magic in her life during the summer holiday when she had to come home to Lavenham. This lack of magic was a huge adjustment for Hermione because, unlike most other twelve-year-old girls, Hermione Jean Granger was a witch.

Last summer, when Hermione had turned eleven years old, Minerva McGonagall (a brilliant professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) had shown up at the Grangers’ cottage and delivered the news: Hermione was a witch and destined for an exclusive magical education at the prestigious school for magic.

The moment Hermione learned she was a witch, her life had completely and utterly changed. Her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been a whirlwind of adventure. From running through brick walls (to get to the magical Platform Nine and Three Quarters at Kings Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express), to turning a mouse into a snuff box (for her final exams in her Transfiguration class), Hermione finally felt as though she was where she was meant to be and with the people she was meant to be. She had never felt ‘at home’ in the Muggle (the term for non-magical people) world. There was always a feeling of emptiness. Before learning of her magical fate, Hermione obsessed over facts and figures and studied constantly to fill the void, but it never quite fulfilled the nameless, aching need to belong. Academics were her whole life up until that magical visit from Professor McGonagall. She was thrilled to be able to learn and study something new... something that would completely change her life. 

Her first year at Hogwarts wasn’t all academics (which would be expected from a school with magic). Hermione befriended “the boy who lived,” Harry Potter, and his best friend, Ron Weasley. Little did she know how much their friendship would change the course of her magical education.

Harry Potter was arguably the most famous wizard of their time, even though he was close in age to Hermione and had only just started his first year at Hogwarts as well. When Harry was a baby, an evil wizard who must not be named (Lord Voldemort if you must name him) tried to kill Harry and his parents. Tragically, James and Lily Potter lost their lives, but Harry miraculously (and unexplainably) survived. When _You Know Who_ used the Killing Curse on Harry, it rebounded and seemingly obliterated the evil wizard’s body. It appeared as though baby Harry had defeated the most dangerous and powerful dark wizard of modern times and the Wizarding World rejoiced. Harry went to go live with his Muggle aunt and uncle after his parents’ death with no memory of what had happened. He was just as surprised by the Wizarding World as Hermione had been.

Ron Weasley, on the other hand, grew up in a very old, very established wizarding family and found the muggle-like qualities of Hermione and Harry endearing. He had five brothers and one sister and was an annoying prat with a heart of gold. 

To say that trouble seemed to follow Harry and Ron around was an understatement. Before her time at Hogwarts, Hermione never so much as coloured outside of the lines. In only one year at Hogwarts, she lied to her professors on multiple occasions, snuck out after hours, voluntarily entered a forbidden corridor, smuggled a highly illegal dragon egg, set a professor on fire, and much, much more, all with Harry and Ron at her side.

Hermione, however, felt as though her indiscretions were somewhat warranted; He Who Must Not Be Named was not, in fact, defeated by baby Harry all those years ago. Instead, he was ripped from his body in the struggle but was still very much alive. He spent years in the forests of Albania gathering what little strength he could to make his return. The only magical power he had left was the power of possession, and he used his power to possess a Hogwarts professor who just so happened to be on a trip to Albania at the worst time. Professor Quirrell was Hogwarts’ Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but he proved not to be very defensive against the Dark Lord. The whole term at Hogwarts, unbeknownst to the staff and students, Quirrell was “hosting” He Who Must Not Be Named in his body. Together, Quirrell and He Who Must Not Be Named devised a plan to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary alchemical substance with magical properties. The ruby-red stone could be used to create the Elixir of Life which would make whoever drank it immortal… and You Know Who thought it’d be enough for him to be able to fully return to his body and power. 

Hermione, Harry, and Ron found themselves caught up in the protection of the Philosopher’s Stone, weaving and fighting their way through a series of tests and challenges their professors had set up to stop He Who Must Not Be Named. At the end of their quest, they succeeded in keeping the stone from You Know Who, but both Harry and Ron ended up in the hospital wing for their efforts. Ron sacrificed himself on a life-sized Wizard’s Chess set and Harry came face to face with the Dark Lord himself. Magically, Harry survived his second run-in with He Who Must Not Be Named just in time for the end of the term.

So, needless to say, walking around a boring British town was dreadfully boring.

Hermione’s parents, Bert and Mary Granger, were lovely people but perpetually mundane. As the town dentists, they got extremely excited over cavities and gum disease and not much else. They were fiercely proud of their daughter and her accomplishments but couldn’t tell anyone about them because of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy Law (a law in the Wizarding World that was first signed in 1689 and then established officially in 1692). The law was laid down by the International Confederation of Wizards to safeguard the Wizarding community from Muggles and hide its presence from the world at large. Therefore, no one could know of Hermione’s magical prowess. 

Instead, Hermione and her parents told everyone in the town that she had gained entry into the prestigious Sherborne International School, an elite boarding school in the southwest of England. Hermione did a lot of research on Sherborne and came up with a very elaborate story to tell anyone who asked. Fortunately for Hermione, the only person who really asked anything about her year at school was Mildred, the librarian. 

Hermione never really had any friends through her primary school years in Lavenham. Sure, there were a few she had talked to in between classes, but Hermione never found anyone with whom she really was comfortable with. All of her classmates seemed to only care about silly games on the playground instead of important things like history, maths, and proper grammar. Hermione simply could not understand how her peers didn’t care about such things as the importance of the 1257 Market Charter which granted Lavenham the ability to export its famous blue broadcloth across Europe. Clearly, they wouldn’t even have been born had it not been granted as it basically established Lavenham as a sustainable town. How could it not be important? Nonetheless, the break was the most anticipated part of the school day.

Mildred the librarian was, by far, Hermione’s best (and, perhaps, only) Muggle friend. She was extremely intelligent and could engage Hermione in all kinds of intellectual debates and discussions. Mildred was also a very warm and thoughtful woman who helped Hermione to consider the emotional sides of history as well.

“So tell me some more about the school,” Mildred said one extremely hot afternoon. The library was stifling. The pair were sitting next to a large, metal fan that made an unbelievable racket. The noise wasn’t as distracting as the fluttering pages of the _Oxford Latin Dictionary_ Hermione was reading. The razor-thin paper was no match for the wind. Quite a few (if not most) of the spells she was learning at Hogwarts were derived from Latin, and Hermione wanted to get a better understanding of the foundation of the language. She had figured out a study plan to get through the more than 2100 page book over the summer months as efficiently as possible whilst devising a flashcard system to retain what she learned.

“Oh Mildred,” Hermione said, giving up on keeping the pages from fluttering. She’d just have to do extra work tomorrow to stay on track with her study plan. “I’ve met so many wonderful friends!”

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Mildred said, slightly taken aback Hermione would mention friends before mentioning something academic-related. “Tell me all about them!”

“My two best friends are Harry and Ron,” Hermione answered. “They’re brilliant. Well, not ‘brilliant’ as in smart, but they are exceptional friends. They’re smart in their own way,” she added. “I’ve learned a lot from them.”

“Learning from friends is the best kind of learning,” Mildred said.

“Indeed… Though there are some brilliant professors at school too. Harry is kind of like the brother I never had,” Hermione said. “And Ron… Ron is infuriating but he makes me laugh sometimes.”

“How so?” Mildred asked.

“Ronald has five brothers and a sister, so he is an expert in sarcasm,” Hermione giggled. “He always has something to say about everything. And Harry is just so kind and caring. His parents died when he was young, and he had to live with his aunt and uncle. They are dreadful people, really; they didn’t care for Harry at all. But, even though he wasn’t shown compassion from his aunt or uncle, Harry only thinks about others instead of himself. It’s quite fascinating to witness, really.”

“It sounds like it,” said Mildred with a smile.

“Speaking of Harry, I’m really worried about him,” Hermione said with a sigh. “I’ve been writing to him every day and haven’t received any response. He had to go back to live with his aunt and uncle for the summer holiday.”

“Maybe he’s just too busy to respond?” Mildred offered.

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “I truly think they are keeping his mail from him. I don’t know what to do.”

“Perhaps you have the wrong address, dear,” Mildred said softly, trying to help. She could see Hermione was getting upset and anxious.

Hermione shook her head. “No, certainly not,” she said but didn’t elaborate. Most of her letters to Harry were not going through the regular Muggle post. In the Wizarding World, letters and correspondence were delivered by owls. All one had to say was, “Deliver this to Harry Potter in Little Whinging, Surrey,” and the owl would find the recipient. She had no doubt her letters were being delivered to Harry’s home but once they got there, she didn’t know what Harry’s family was doing with them.

“I’ve been writing to Ron as well,” Hermione continued. “He’s not very forthcoming in his return letters, but he has confirmed Harry hasn’t responded to his letters as well. So it’s not just me.”

“I’m sure there is a very rational explanation for it. Besides,” Mildred said, “it has only been two weeks since you’ve been home. Perhaps he is just getting settled in before returning your letter.”

Hermione just nodded her head. She didn’t want to argue with Mildred because she’d have to admit to sending more than 15 letters in just two weeks (which was a little embarrassing but should have warranted a response from Harry, albeit an annoyed one). Also, to say Ron’s letters were not very forthcoming was a dire understatement. Just the other day, Hermione had written to him:

> _Dear Ron,_
> 
> _I hope this owl and letter finds you and your family well. To continue where I left off in yesterday’s letter, my parents surprised me with a new computer when we came home from King’s Cross Station! A computer is a Muggle contraption for data processing and storing information. Your father would be utterly fascinated with it, I think! It has a monitor that looks similar to a muggle television set so you can see all of the information and data you are entering. It also has a keyboard to type it on that resembles a typewriter a bit, but much less cumbersome. I am very excited to start learning about this muggle technology and have already taken advantage of some of the educational programs it offers. For example, I am playing a fascinating game about the migration of settlers in the American Colonies. You have to survive in a covered wagon as you cross the continent in search of a better life. You can name the different characters within your wagon, and I’m sorry to report, Ron, that your namesake has died of dysentery three times now. I took a Muggle picture of the monitor the last time it happened (so unfortunately it doesn’t move like the wizard photographs) and will include it in my next letter after we get our film developed. Please share it with your father on my behalf! It’s not only funny but will be entertaining for your father!_
> 
> _My parents are also planning a fun trip to Piccadilly Circus for us. I am excited because even though we have only been away from Hogwarts for a few days, I have been dreadfully bored. There are multiple theaters on Shaftesbury Avenue we are looking into visiting. I am quite interested in attending a performance of_ Les Misèrables _at the Palace Theatre. I read Victor Hugo’s novel of the same name when I was seven and greatly enjoyed it. It will be fascinating to see how they have condensed 1,900 pages into a 2 hour and 40-minute musical. Do wizards have theatre and musicals? I would be interested to see if there were any differences between Muggle theatre and Wizard theatre, like there are in Wizard Chess, for example._
> 
> _I am extremely anxious to receive our supplies list for our second year. I would like to get a head start on our studies. I have already ordered a copy of_ The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2) _by Miranda Goshawk and it is expected next week by owl. I wonder what other books we will need. Will you tell me at once when you receive your letter? I’m afraid my letter will be slightly delayed since I come from a Muggle family._
> 
> _Have you spoken to your parents any more about having Harry and me visit this summer? I would like that very much. I could bring all kinds of Muggle things for your father to examine._
> 
> _Speaking of Harry, I still have yet to receive a letter back from him. At this point, I would be happy to receive a reply as short and as infuriating as yours (really, Ronald, would it kill you to write more than five words?). I am starting to get worried that I haven’t heard from Harry. Do you think his aunt and uncle are keeping his letters from him? Do you think they will stop him from coming back to Hogwarts next term? From what Harry has told me about them, they would be the type to do that and more. Have you heard anything from him?_
> 
> _I will write again tomorrow and hope to receive a slightly more substantial letter from you as soon as you receive this. I expect more than five words. Do not make me curse you, Ronald Weasley._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Hermione._

She received a return letter that evening in Ron’s horrendous handwriting delivered by, quite possibly, the oldest owl in all of England.

> _‘Mione,_
> 
> _I’ve not heard from Harry either (six words - Ha!)._
> 
> _Ron_

“He couldn’t even be bothered to write my whole name,” Hermione had thought bitterly. “But at least he knew enough to put an apostrophe before it.” The truth was Hermione was lonely, so even six words were a bright spot in her day. Just a year ago, she actually took solace in her lack of social interactions in Lavenham. Now, Hermione desperately missed having her friends to talk to. Mildred was lovely, but it just wasn’t the same.

“Well, I should probably be going,” Hermione said to Mildred. “I have a lot to do when I get home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Mildred said with a smile. “It’s a date! And don’t worry yourself too much about your friend and his letters. It’s only been just a bit of time! He’s probably just settling back in.”

Hermione walked back to the Grangers’ Cottage in the Lavenham heat with sweat pouring down her face. She let herself in the front door and walked straight into the kitchen. In the third drawer to the right of the oven, Hermione pulled out a bright, emerald green tea towel and ran it under the cold tap. When it was thoroughly soaked through, she put it on the nape of her neck. The cold cloth did little for her body temperature, but there was not much more she could do.

The emerald green colour of the towel reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall. With another pang of loneliness, she recalled the brilliantly regal robes billowing around her favourite professor. Ever since Professor McGonagall had knocked on the Grangers’ door the summer before, Hermione had felt a certain kinship and respect for the teacher. Throughout the school year, Hermione’s admiration and respect only grew for the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall was the head of house for Gryffindor as well. Similar to Muggle schools, houses at Hogwarts were both the living and learning communities for its students. The houses compete throughout the school year by earning and losing points for various activities and academic achievements.

First-year students are sorted into their house when they first arrive at Hogwarts in a sorting ceremony. A talking hat, nicknamed the Sorting Hat, evaluated each student’s personalities and potential future accomplishments before sorting them into one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. When Hermione was first sorted, the Sorting Hat nearly placed her in Ravenclaw because of her smarts (Ravenclaw is known for its intelligence), but she begged to be sorted into Professor McGonagall’s house. Thankfully, the Sorting Hat complied, saying Hermione, while extremely intelligent, was also extremely brave and loyal - a sign of a Gryffindor.

Hermione sat down at her new computer and composed a letter to her favourite professor, hoping doing so would help ease her loneliness.

> _Dear Professor McGonagall,_
> 
> _I hope this note and owl find you well. My parents send their regards and gratitude for helping me break the Hogwarts School record last term for the best marks. I most certainly couldn’t have done it without your expertise and guidance._
> 
> _In preparation for next term, I have owl-ordered a copy of Miranda Goshawk’s_ The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2) _and hope to have it delivered soon. Could you, perhaps, let me know what other books I will need? I have already read_ A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration _in its entirety five times from our first year and am anxiously awaiting your lectures covering the second half of the book this coming term. I am particularly interested in hearing your take on Untransfiguration and the various counter-spells mentioned. Will “Reparifarge'' be included in this year’s studies, or is that covered in our third year?_
> 
> _Do you have any other suggestions on additional studying I can work on? I would like to make sure I am prepared for my second year at Hogwarts and would appreciate your excellent guidance._
> 
> _I anxiously await your reply by owl,_
> 
> _Hermione J. Granger_

Hermione printed the letter, tore off the holes on the side of the paper, and signed her name with a quill and emerald-green ink. She didn’t like how the “e” at the end of her signature looked, so she printed another copy from the computer. How wonderful it was to have such wonderful technology to reprint her letters until she got it right! It was almost as wonderful as magic. Almost.

Hermione placed the re-printed letter (with a perfect signature this time) into a beautiful square envelope and put it on top of the others to go out in the owl post. She reloaded the printer and started to type out another letter to her good friend, Neville Longbottom. Neville was her first friend at Hogwarts; they met on the Hogwarts Express. He was a particularly shy and clumsy boy, but Hermione felt fiercely protective of him and loved him as if he were her brother. Neville had a very stern grandmother who raised him, though Hermione admired the woman’s resolve. She only wanted the best for Neville and would accept nothing less. 

While they were at Hogwarts, Neville (unfortunately) got tangled up in Hermione, Harry, and Ron’s adventures. Hermione actually had to hex poor Neville at one point. However, she was thankfully able to explain herself to Neville, and all was forgiven. Hermione was more than happy to keep in contact with Neville and appreciated his prompt replies.

> _Dear Neville,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you well! I’m so glad to hear you and your gran have been getting on since you’ve been home. I was also especially glad to hear how proud she was of your high marks in Herbology. I know we’re only going into our second year which most people think is much too early to start thinking of career choices, but I think you should seriously consider becoming a professor. You are so knowledgeable when it comes to Herbology! Speaking of Herbology, what did you write for the “ideal habitat for Devil’s Snare” for the exam? I know it thrives in a dark and damp environment, but I’m afraid I missed something as I only received a 99 out of 100._
> 
> _I have been reading up on some of the things we will be learning about in Herbology with Professor Sprout this coming year. A lot of it looks simply fascinating. I am especially keen on learning about Mandrakes and their restorative properties. Have you had any experience with Mandrakes?_
> 
> _In response to your previous letter, I asked my friend, Mildred the librarian, about horticulture in the Muggle world. She has requested a few books on the subject that I can send to you by owl. Just remember to send them back! I think it’s brilliant that you want to expand your knowledge. Cheers!_
> 
> _I don’t know about you, but I am already counting down the days until we return to Hogwarts. I love spending time with my parents, of course, but I miss you all desperately. I am so glad you have forgiven me for performing the body-bind curse on you. I still feel dreadful about that. When we get back to Hogwarts, I will teach you some defensive spells so no one can ever do that to you again._
> 
> _My parents are taking me to Piccadilly Circus in London to see a show. I suppose that will help with the boredom. I am going to make sure the Hogwarts’ owls can find me there. It’s fascinating how owls can find witches and wizards anywhere! Do you know much about the owl post? I’d love to learn more._
> 
> _I can’t wait to get your return letter. Please write back soon!_
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Hermione_

Hermione’s printer whirled to life. She tore off the letter, stuck it in an envelope, and put it on top of the owl post pile. She had begged her parents to buy her an owl to send her letters over the summer holidays, but they had flat out refused. Hermione didn’t understand it; her parents had been so wonderfully accepting of everything else in the Wizarding World, but they drew the line at getting an owl. Why they were so against a means of communicating with her friends (yet perfectly alright with things like wands and witches’ hats) was beyond even Hermione’s comprehension.

Before leaving Hogwarts for the summer months, Hermione arranged to have owls stop by her Muggle house every day to get her letters. The “postage” rate was a little more than what wizards would usually pay by owl, but Hermione didn’t mind. She loved taking a few moments to slip some extra knuts into the owl’s pouch each evening when they flew to her window - for those few extra moments, Hermione had a direct connection to the Wizarding World she missed so much.

Since Harry wasn’t responding to any of Hermione’s (or Ron’s) letters by owl post, Hermione decided to follow up by sending a letter through the Muggle post. Perhaps Harry’s aunt and uncle had an aversion to owls like her own parents. She opened up a new document on the computer and started to type.

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I am hoping this letter will get to you through the Muggle post. I have sent multiple letters through our school’s usual means of correspondence and haven’t received a reply. I am very worried about you! Please write back to me as soon as you can. You can send it through either method - whatever you prefer. I anxiously await your reply._
> 
> _Worriedly,_
> 
> _Hermione_

Hermione was careful not to get into any specifics in case her letter was intercepted in the Muggle post. The Muggle post was not as reliable as owls, that’s for sure. She printed the letter and wrote Harry’s address. At first, Harry didn’t want to give it to her. “You can just send me letters by owl, Hermione,” he had said. “Why bother with the Muggle post?” Hermione shook her head. Harry’s lack of response to the owl post was _precisely_ why she had asked for his address. Honestly, that boy never thought ahead.

Finally cooled off enough after her walk home from the library, Hermione took her new flashcards outside to wait for the Muggle postman to mail Harry’s letter. Finnegan, as he introduced himself one day, always had a fun story to tell Hermione to brighten her day. While the Royal Mail didn’t normally offer mailing services from residences, Finnegan had graciously offered to take any of Hermione’s stamped mail if she had it. He explained he had attended a boarding school when he was a lad and understood the need to stay connected with friends. Hermione couldn’t agree more.

Hermione found some shade under the old, crooked tree in the Grangers’ front yard and set to studying. The intoxicating smell of freshly mowed grass swept over her in the light breeze. “Cacabaceus, cacabacea, cacabaceum,” she read on the front of the card and then paused for a moment. “Adjective; of, or pertaining to, a kitchen pot.” She flipped the card over and was relieved she was correct. She placed the card at the bottom of her deck and looked at the next card. “Calo, calare, calavi, calatus,” she read. “Verb: To announce or proclaim.” Hermione flipped it over. Right again.

Finnegan was what Hermione’s roommate, Lavender Brown, would consider as ‘dreamy.’ He had crystal blue eyes, a mess of dirty blonde hair, and a strong, sturdy build. Lavender, one of the four other girls Hermione shared a dorm room with at Hogwarts, was obsessed with boys. Every single piece of parchment Lavender got her hands on had some random boy’s name on it with a heart. It was all Hermione could do to keep from rolling her eyes every time Lavender came into the room. Hermione couldn’t be bothered with silly crushes. 

Hermione continued with her flashcards but kept one eye on the quaint, country road for Finnegan. Finally, she saw him cresting the small hill and walking to her neighbour’s house. Finnegan caught sight of her under the shade and gave an enthusiastic wave. “Hello, Hermione!” Finnegan called as he dropped the neighbor’s post through their letterbox and walked in Hermione’s direction. “It’s right hot out, eh?”

“Quite!” Hermione replied.

“What are you studying today?” he asked.

“Latin again,” Hermione said.

“All I know in Latin is ‘Carpe Diem,’” Finnegan chuckled as he rifled through his bag.

“I’m sure you know loads more than that,” Hermione said. “There are so many words and phrases we use every day that are Latin. For example, have you ever used the word ‘bonus’ before?”

“Of course,” Finnegan exclaimed.

“That’s a Latin word for ‘good.’ Also, have you ever used the phrase, ‘quid pro quo?’”

“Indeed, I have.”

“Well, that’s Latin for ‘something for something.’ See? You know Latin!” Hermione said with a warm smile.

“Blimey, I do!” Finnegan chuckled. “I guess I should quit my job and start working at your fancy boarding school. You think they’ll have me?”

“I’m sure they would,” Hermione said, knowing right well they wouldn’t dream of having a Muggle working at Hogwarts. “Oh, by the way, would you mind taking a letter of mine for my friend?”

“I don’t mind at all! Ya know I’ll always take ya letters. Must be hard, bein’ away from all your friends all summer long,” said Finnegan. Hermione nodded and handed over her letter to Harry. She watched Finnegan put it into a separate pouch in his bag. “Well, I’m happy to be your connection to your fancy school friends. It’s nice to see ya smile. Must be some magical friends!” Hermione did a double-take at his wording, but Finn immediately changed the subject. “Oy, I have to tell you! Over at the Swan Hotel, two more of the guests ran out into the middle o’the street in their knickers in the middle o’the night, hollerin’ about the ghosts again! I think it’s Bridget and Keelin messin’ about, but whoever or whatever it is, it’s right funny!”

Hermione laughed at the mental image of two guests running out in the middle of the usually quiet road in front of the historic hotel. Last year, if she had heard this story, she would be convinced it was Brigid and Keelin (two mischievous receptionists at the hotel) pulling pranks… but now that she had been to Hogwarts and actually had a ghost as a professor, she knew there was a possibility it _was_ a ghost.

“That’s great,” Hermione said. Though she thoroughly enjoyed Finnegan’s stories, she never quite knew what to say in return. Hermione would have to write to Parvati, one of her other roommates, to ask; Parvati was an expert in social interactions and Hermione was… not. 

“It is,” Finnegan agreed. “I’d give anything to see the people runnin’ out inna middle o’the street like that, I would,” he laughed. Hermione laughed too because she didn’t really know what to do otherwise. There was an awkward silence. “Right then,” Finnegan said. “I should be on my way. Maybe I’ll catch a ghost sighting!”

“Good luck!” Hermione said and then outwardly cringed at her awkwardness. As soon as Finnegan stepped into her neighbour’s yard, Hermione ran inside to write Parvati a letter.


	2. Mafalda’s Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. Please don't sue me!
> 
> This is a retelling of the first Harry Potter book from the point of view of the clever and brave Hermoine Granger. As such, in future chapters, I have woven some of Rowling’s original text into my own thoughts and words. This is in order to stay true to the original text, but also allow for the exploration of how things surrounding the Chosen One unfolded from Hermoine’s involvement. There will be both descriptions, as well as dialogue, that may be familiar to readers. Again, I do not own this book or these characters, I am simply expounding on the canon events... please don't sue me.
> 
> Also, this book is FINISHED but I am working with some friends to proofread it. Please keep in mind the following facts:  
> 1.) I am not British, nor do I claim to be. I tried my best to make this as British as possible. If my best is not good enough for you, you can move on.  
> 2.) I did this for fun. I had no idea what fanfiction was before I got drunk and decided it was a brilliant idea to rewrite all 7 books from Hermione's perspective. If you're not having fun and would like to critique something in these 80k words, you can move on.  
> 3.) I poured over the books, wikis, and any other source material I could. There are going to be errors with the canon. I can guarantee it. However, I'd like to believe the number of non-errors far outweigh the errors and you should try focusing on that.

**Chapter Two: Mafalda's Warning**

During her year at Hogwarts, Hermione and Parvati Patil forged a friendship over a “quid pro quo” (to use a Latin phrase): Hermione would help Parvati with her academic skills, and Parvati would help Hermione with her social skills. Parvati’s twin sister, Padma, was in Ravenclaw and considered the “smart twin.” Parvati wanted to change that with Hermione’s help. Parvati was by far Hexrmione’s least annoying roommate, and Hermione missed her company. 

> _ Dear Parvati, _
> 
> _ I hope this letter finds you and your sister well. How has your summer been going? Have you started the study schedule I set up for you? I’d be curious to see what Padma thought of it.  _
> 
> _ I have a rather odd social question for you that I hope you can help me with. In the Muggle world, we have postmen and women instead of owls who deliver our mail from house to house. Our postman’s name is Finnegan, and he is always very nice. Every day, he comes to my house and tells me a funny story about something that happened in my little town. He makes me forget how much I miss you and everyone else at Hogwarts. The problem is I don’t know what to say to him after he tells me one of his stories. I always get flustered, and there is always a quite awkward pause. Do you have any suggestions? _
> 
> _ Thank you, as always, for your help. I can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts and start our second year. Do you have any plans for the summer holiday? My parents and I are going to go to London and may see a theatre show. I will make sure to tell you all about it! _
> 
> _ I eagerly await your reply by owl, _
> 
> _ Hermione. _

As the printer whirled to life, Hermione fiddled with her wand. She had never felt more complete - more whole -than when her wand ‘chose her’' at Ollivander’s Wand Shop. The wand - 10¾" long, made of vine wood, and possessing a dragon heartstring core - seemed like an extension of her hand. Ever since she left Hogwarts and rejoined the Muggle world (where performing magic was forbidden to underage students), Hermione missed constantly holding it and feeling its intricate groves. To have it in her hands again was so calming. She turned to get another envelope from the shelf and accidentally knocked over her quill and ink. “Immobulus!” shouted Hermione without thinking. The inkwell and quill froze in mid-air. 

Hermione felt a cold burning sensation slide over her body as soon as she realized what she had done. She snatched the quill and ink out of the air and put them back on the shelf as if nothing had happened … as if she hadn’t just performed magic outside of school … as if she hadn’t broken the number one rule of being an underage witch. Hermione could feel a bubble of anxiety rising within her. The bubble practically exploded as she heard a sharp “rap rap rap” on the window. She jumped and nearly dropped the ink and quill again because her hands were shaking so much.

Hermione looked towards the sound. There, on her window ledge, was a tawny owl with a letter in its beak. It was not the usual school owl that came each day to pick up and deliver her letters. This one, she knew, was different. With a feeling of intense dread, Hermione opened the window and took the letter out of the owl’s beak. The owl flew away at once. As her hands shook, Hermione inspected the letter. Her name and address were written carefully in dark, purple ink and on the back of the letter, a wax seal held the envelope flap closed. Hermione’s fingers traced the wax circle and the large “M” in the Ministry of Magic emblem before sliding beneath it to open the envelope. The paper, written in the same purple ink, read:

> _ Dear Ms. Granger, _
> 
> _ We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this afternoon at sixteen minutes past four.  _
> 
> _ As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).  _
> 
> _ We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy. _
> 
> _ Enjoy your holidays! _
> 
> _ Yours sincerely, _
> 
> _ Mafalda Hopkirk _
> 
> _ Improper Use of Magic Office _
> 
> _ Ministry of Magic _

Hermione dropped the letter because she was shaking so hard. Expulsion?!

\---

Mary Granger was the first of Hermione’s parents to come home that evening - Bert had a patient that took longer than he had expected. She found her daughter crumpled on the floor, sobbing. Mary had a flashback of the previous summer when she found Hermione in nearly the exact same position - Hermione had been accused of cheating on an exam and was crushed to have received no credit. Mary rushed over to Hermione.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

Hermione tried to answer, but the sobs made it nearly impossible. Mary just sat with Hermione until Hermione calmed down enough to be able to finally say the words. “I’m gonna *hiccup* be expelled,” she said and then started to cry all over again. Mary took the crumpled paper from Hermione’s fist and read it for herself. 

“Hermione! You’re not going to be expelled! You’ll be expelled only if you do more magic. Here, look,” she said as she held the letter out in front of Hermione. Through her tears, Hermione re-read the letter: “ _ …  _ **_further_ ** _ spellwork on your part  _ **_may_ ** _ lead to expulsion from said school.” _

“Oh,” she sniffled. Hermione felt her body start to relax and the bubble of anxiety start to deflate ever so slightly. 

“Yes!” said Mary, tucking Hermione’s hair behind her ear. “See? All you have to do is make sure you don’t do any more magic while you’re home.”

“But it was an accident,” said Hermione through some leftover tears. “I didn’t even mean to do it.” She felt the bubble start to rise again. “It was pure instinct - I knocked over my ink and quill and I … I just froze it. Just like that. In mid-air. I didn’t even think. It just happened.”

“Well,” Mary said, “that just goes to show that you are certainly meant to be a witch if you can do something like freeze a quill in mid-air. That’s pretty impressive if you ask me.” Mary smiled and squeezed Hermione a little tighter. “I’m so proud of you, my darling,” she said. “Have I told you that yet today?”

Hermione smiled. “Thanks, Mum,” she said. She took a deep breath to push the last of the anxiety bubble down. “Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, his last patient ran over so it’s just you and me to make dinner. What do you feel like making?”

“Something cool. It’s been dreadfully hot all day,” Hermione said. Cooking, similar to potion brewing, would help her relax a bit. 

“It really has, hasn’t it,” Mary agreed. “Let’s go then. We can talk about our trip to London while we cut up some vegetables for a nice, summer, salad.”

\---

Hermione, Bert, and Mary were all seated around the small, circular dinner table enjoying their summer salads when there was a quick rap on the window. It was another owl Hermione had never seen before, but this one didn’t look nearly as official as Mafalda’s from the Ministry. As Hermione raced to get her letters for the owl post, her parents eyed the owl with contempt and a little bit of fear. Hermione paid them no mind as she struggled to open up the window screen (it always gets stuck) to let the ashy, grey-brown owl onto the ledge. 

Out of its beak, Hermione pecked a small, yellow envelope. After tying the four letters together with some twine, Hermione held the string out for the owl to take. The owl seemed to shake its head no and flew away without taking her letters. How peculiar. She‘d just have to wait to see if the “regular” owl came later that evening.

Hermione took a quick glance at the faded yellow envelope but she couldn’t tell who it was from. The handwriting wasn’t familiar whatsoever. A feeling of dread quickly bubbled to the surface. Had her assumption about the owl been incorrect? Was it another letter from the Ministry? Had she done something else wrong? A spell without thinking again, perhaps?

Still examining the envelope, Hermione walked straight past the kitchen table, eager to get to her room to open the mystery envelope. “Hermione,” Bert called, “we’re not done with dinner!”

“Oh, sorry dad,” Hermione said and begrudgingly returned to her seat. Instead of eating, however, she just inspected the envelope. The writing wasn’t familiar, but Hermione finally concluded it was written by someone younger - it was printed instead of written in cursive and just seemed oddly spaced - which made Hermione feel a bit more confident it wasn’t another letter from the Ministry. Her heart slowed down slightly, but not fully.

“Must be an important letter,” Mary said. “Who is it from, dear?”

“That’s just the thing,” Hermione said. “I don’t know.”

“How peculiar,” murmured Bert before taking a large bite of lettuce. “There can’t be too many students at your school, right?” he asked, chomping away.

“Certainly not in my year,” Hermione said. It was true - Hermione’s class were all born in the thick of the Wizarding War. Tragically, not many families survived … and those who did weren’t focused on starting a family. Compared to the other levels at Hogwarts, Hermione’s was smaller by at least half … but she didn’t want to share that “fun fact” with her parents - they didn’t have to worry any more than they probably already did. Thankfully, the subject was dropped and substituted for their upcoming vacation.

“Have you decided what show you want to see when we go to London this weekend?” Mary asked, taking a sip of her water.

“Oh! Yes!” Hermione said, snapping back to attention. “I really want to see  _ Les Misèrables _ at the Palace.”

“You read the book, right?” Bert asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Three times now. I loved it. Have you?”

“It’s been years,” Bert answered.

“You should read it again so it’s fresh in your mind,” Hermione said.

“It’s 1900 pages!”

“And you have until Friday,” Hermione said. “You should be ok.”

“I was actually thinking of leaving first thing Friday morning. That way, we can have the day to explore,” Mary said. 

“Ok, so Thursday evening. Get to it, Dad,” Hermione said with a smile.

Even though their upcoming trip was the most excitement she would get to experience since she left Hogwarts and talking about it was fun, Hermione tried to eat her dinner as quickly as she could so she could take the mysterious envelope to her room. She couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out who the letter was from, and she still had a nagging anxious thought it could be from the Ministry (even though that made absolutely no rational sense). She barely had chewed the last piece of lettuce before bouncing out of her chair and taking her dish into the kitchen to wash. 

As soon as her large, oak door clicked shut, Hermione inspected the mystery letter after plopping on her fluffy, maroon and gold bed. Her parents had surprised her when she came home for the summer with the new bedroom decor. They had hoped to recreate Hogwarts, though Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell them the Hogwarts decor was much more sophisticated than a generic maroon and gold striped blanket. Hermione’s heart ached slightly, missing the comfortable sophistication of her dorm room, but it was forgotten as soon as she looked back down at the letter in her hand. In a careful hurry, Hermione ripped open the envelope and pulled out the parchment.

> _ Dear Hermione, _
> 
> _ I know you don’t know me, but I kind of know you. My name is Ginny Weasley, and I am Ron’s younger sister. This year will be my first year at Hogwarts, and I can’t wait to finally meet you. Ron talks about you all the time, and you seem really smart. I’m smart too, but I don’t have anyone to talk to in my family. Well, Percy is smart, but he’s also very annoying. You probably know him since he was the Gryffindor Prefect last year. _
> 
> _ I’m so excited to finally go to Hogwarts and meet people (like you) who are smarter and more interesting than my family. I love my family very much, of course, but I want to have as many adventures as Ron, you, and Harry Potter did last year. What is Harry Potter like? He seems very exciting. He reminds me of Gilderoy Lockhart. Have you heard of Gilderoy Lockhart? He is a very brave wizard and goes on all kinds of adventures. That’s kind of how I imagine Hogwarts to be, especially with Harry Potter there. _
> 
> _I’ve stolen Ron’s_ Standard Book Of Spells (Grade 1) _by Miranda Goshawk (though I doubt he’d notice it is gone) and have read through most of it. I was disappointed to find jinxes and hexes aren’t really covered because I had hoped to learn some to use against my brothers for my first-year. Have you studied much about hexes and jinxes? I heard from Ron that you performed a perfect body-binding curse last year. I’d love to see you do it again once we get to Hogwarts and maybe you could teach me._
> 
> _ Ron, George, and Fred said that I have to take some sort of test to find out what house I will be in when I get to Hogwarts, but they won’t tell me what it is. Can you tell me so I can study for it? Is it a spell I have to do? I’d like to prepare for it because I really want to be in Gryffindor with you, Harry, and Ron. _
> 
> _ I really hope you and I can be friends. I refuse to use our family owl, Errol, because he’s really old. Plus, I have to share him with the whole family and would never get a chance to send anything. I made friends with one of the school owls Professor McGonagall would send to tell mum and dad whenever Fred, George, or Ron had detention (I saved him all kinds of insects to eat), and he comes to visit me once a week. I’d really like to keep him a secret so I don’t have to share him with my brothers, so please just send your return letter back with this owl at the same time next week.  _
> 
> _ Hope to hear from you then, _
> 
> _ Ginny Weasley _

Hermione quickly reread the letter a second and a third time. She was so excited! Ginny sounded absolutely brilliant! Basically, it sounded as though Ginny was a female, smarter version of Ron which would be, frankly, a breath of fresh air. Hermione decided then and there she’d take Ginny under her wing and make sure her transition to Hogwarts was a smooth one. She remembered how nervous she had been about the sorting ceremony and definitely didn’t want Ginny to worry about it. Actually, the sorting ceremony was one of the best parts of Hogwarts, and Hermione was looking forward to experiencing it this year without the nerves.

Hermione decided to hold off on writing a return letter, mostly because she wanted to do a little bit of research before replying. She’d have to look up this Gilderoy Lockhart fellow tomorrow. Hopefully, he’d be mentioned somewhere in the Muggle library. If not, Hermione had already planned on begging her parents for a quick trip to Diagon Alley, the premier shopping village for all things magic, when they visited London next week. They’d be so close, after all, that it would be silly not to go. Going to Diagon Alley was just the smart thing to do. 

Though she knew she should get through at least one hundred more Latin flashcards to keep up with her schedule, Hermione found her mind wandering while lounging on her bed. She knew she had heard the name “Gilderoy Lockhart” before, but she couldn’t place it.

Suddenly, it hit her! Gilderoy Lockhart was the author of  _ Magical Me _ which had been advertised in the Flourish and Blotts flyer Hermione got each week. Flourish and Blotts was one of Hermione’s favourite shops in Diagon Alley. It was about halfway down the main street on the left and made Hermione smile every time she saw it. It was completely filled to capacity with books. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, all the way from the floor to the ceilings. Every shape, size, and colour was represented somewhere within the store - the front windows usually contained displays of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs! Just thinking of the store made Hermione’s heart skip a beat. 

Each week, the store sent out a weekly advertisement with the week’s best sellers. For those (like Hermione) who couldn’t make it to Flourish and Blotts whenever they’d like, they included an order form to have books delivered by owl. 

Hermione riffled through the large stack of papers on her roll away desk and finally found the bright lime green flyer from Flourish and Blotts. Her eyes fell upon the small, square advertisement in the top corner:

Magical Me _ by Gilderoy Lockhart, in its 21st straight week on the  _ Daily Prophet _ bestseller list, is a must-read adventure from start to finish. Only 8 Sickles and a Knut! Get it today before they all fly off the shelf! _

She grabbed her small, purple, beaded handbag (a gift from her grandma on her mom’s side) and checked inside to see how much Wizarding money she had left (she had planned on getting more exchanged when she and her family went to Diagon Alley). At first glance, she saw two Gallons, a handful or so of Sickles, and even more Knuts. She definitely had enough to buy it! Hermione filled out the order form and placed it and the exact change into a small envelope. Then, on second thought, she threw a couple of extra Knuts in. She took the order form back out and wrote, “Rush order, please! I’ve included extra to cover the cost.”

The worst part of not having her own owl was having to wait for the school owls. She got lucky with the owl Ginny had sent her letter with, but her usual school owl didn’t normally show up until late at night. Hermione knew she was being unreasonably impatient, but she wanted to order the book as soon as possible. Once Hermione’s interest was piqued, she could not rest until it was satisfied.

As the minutes (and then hours) ticked by, Hermione wondered if the Ministry owl Ginny had sent intercepted her usual owl in transit or something because her usual owl was late. She knew she should be packing her bags for their trip, but Hermione had her mind set on ordering that book as soon as possible. 

Finally, she heard the familiar “scratch, scratch, scratch” sound of the owl’s talon against the window screen followed by a low solitary “hoot.” Hermione jumped to the window sill and raised the screen. 

“Hello,” she said softly and ran her finger gently across the owl’s feathers. The owl hooted a reply. “I’ll be in London for the weekend,” Hermione continued. “But I’ll make sure to keep an eye on our hotel room window for you each night.” She smiled and held out her envelope with the book order as well as her other letters Ginny’s owl didn’t take. “This one is to go to Flourish and Blotts. This one goes to Ronald Weasley. Please deliver this one to Parvati Patil, and this one to Neville Longbottom. Finally, this one goes to Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts.” The owl took the letters in its beak and held out its leg for Hermione to place the postage rate in its pouch, which she happily did. As the owl flew into the midnight blue sky, Hermoine took a deep breath and tried to watch the winged mail carrier for as long as she could.


	3. The Wretched

##  Chapter Three: The Wretched

With every kilometer they drove, Hermione grew more and more excited. The Grangers were on their way to London! At Hermione’s insistence, they had decided to stay at the historic Piccadilly Hotel near the heart of Piccadilly Circus. Hermione, of course, had done as much research as she possibly could before settling on the historic hotel (in between her Latin study, of course). 

Built in 1908 as a 5-star luxury hotel, architect Richard Norman Shaw designed The Piccadilly Hotel with 17th Century English Palladian architecture influences and full of Edwardian charm. Surprisingly, even though the hotel was designed to have 300 bedrooms, multiple (and massive) restaurants, three basement floors up to forty feet below ground level, four Masonic temples, a grill room, and a great deal of storage, the construction of the hotel only took 18 months to be completed. When the hotel first opened, it boasted a staff of 650 and had its own generator which supplied electricity to the whole hotel. King George V was a fan of the hotel and stayed there on multiple occasions (even though Buckingham Palace was just a stone’s throw away!). A few short years prior to the Grangers’ visit, Le Méridien (part of Air France), purchased the hotel and modernized it, being mindful of maintaining the Edwardian charm. 

Hermione absolutely loved the history of the hotel and even more that hotel was right in the middle of all of the excitement of Piccadilly Circus. The lights, the sounds, the smells - it was all so much more exciting than Lavenham. It wasn’t perhaps as exciting as experiencing Diagon Alley for the first time, but it came very, very close. 

Hermione smiled as her mind flashbacked to arriving in Diagon Alley with her parents that fateful first trip: Professor McGonagall had accompanied the Grangers through the Floo Network: a series of magical passageways using fireplaces which were interconnected throughout the Wizarding World. As they stepped out into the little shopping village, Hermione had been completely overwhelmed with the multitude of witches and wizards filling its cobblestoned streets. There were short witches and wizards, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones. They were dressed in robes of every colour imaginable. There were a plethora of sights, sounds, and smells that overwhelmed Hermione and her family (in a good way!). Hermione found it difficult to pay attention to anything Professor McGonagall was saying because she was so busy looking at everyone and everything. The Grangers ended up staying all weekend at Diagon Alley, exploring the magical shops and restaurants. 

After checking in at the charming and expansive front desk of the Piccadilly Hotel, the Grangers rode the lifts to their room. It was small yet elegant, decorated with rich mahogany wood and deep burgundy accents. Bert threw his tattered duffle bag to the floor and jumped onto the lush bed. “Kip time,” he exclaimed and put the crook of his elbow over his eyes to shield them from the early afternoon sun streaming in the window.

“Dad!” Hermione whined and grabbed his arm. “No! We absolutely have no time to take a nap. We have a schedule, and we’re already seven minutes behind.”

Bert chuckled. “I was just joking,” he said, getting off the bed and following Hermione to the door.

“You were  _ not _ joking,” Mary whispered with a grin as Bert passed her. 

He put his finger to his lips and winked. “For the love of all things magical, don’t tell  _ her _ that,” he whispered back.

\---

Even in the afternoon light, the brightness of the neon signs seemed to dance and bounce off the Grangers’ faces. Their first stop was, of course, to see the historic Coca-Cola sign (which had been there since 1954). Next, the family walked over to the Shaftesbury Avenue Memorial Statue (erected in 1892–1893 to commemorate the philanthropic works of Lord Shaftesbury). Hermione rattled off the history of the sites to her eager parents. Bert couldn’t help but smile - Hermione had actually learned  _ more _ about the historical sites than he and Mary had! 

Soon, it was time to grab a bite to eat before the show. The Grangers dodged tourists left and right and slowly made their way to a quaint little pub away from the hustle and bustle of the heart of Piccadilly Circus.

“Bloody hell, now I know where the term, ‘It’s a Piccadilly Circus,’ comes from,” exclaimed Bert in reference to the seemingly never endless stream of people.

“Language!” said Mary.

“Sorry love, but it’s true!” Bert said. “If there ever were a time to say ‘bloody hell,’ it's when you’re surrounded by a million people.”

“I highly doubt it was a  _ million _ people,” Hermione said. 

“I was being sarcastic,” Bert said, looking over the menu at his daughter. “It couldn’t have been more than 500,000.”

Hermione started to open her mouth to object but saw the shimmery glint of mischief in her father’s eye and realized he was still joking. “Ha, ha,” she said dryly. “Very funny. Your poor patients. Having to listen to this drivel without any way to tell you to stop.”

Mary nearly spat out her water as she burst out laughing. Bert’s jaw dropped. “Someone got quite cheeky at school, didn’t she?” he said, trying desperately to not laugh.

“Quite,” Hermione said with a huge grin. “Oh, Dad, you never did tell me - did you ever finish  _ Les Misèrables _ ?”

Bert shifted in the dark, mahogany pub chair. “I got through most of it,” he said. “What, is this ‘pick-on-Dad’ day?”

Hermione laughed. “How much is ‘most’ of it?”

“About half,” Bert said, setting his jaw indignantly, “but don’t forget I’ve already read it before. This was just a refresher course.”

Instead of letting the conversation continue, Mary spoke up. “I’m curious to hear if whoever plays Jean Valjean can live up to Colm Wilkenson.” Bert looked at her with a quizzical look.

Hermione piped up. “Colm Wilkenson was the original West End actor to play Jean Valjean. He’s the one who is on our cast recording.”

“He’s even better,” came a voice. The Grangers’ looked up to see their smiling waitress with a tray full of food. “I got to see the show a month ago,” she said. “You’re going to love it. First time?”

Hermione nodded enthusiastically as the red-headed waitress doled out their food. “I’ve read the book, and I’m very curious to see how close it is,” she said as she moved her silverware out of the way for the waitress. 

“Marius is definitely better in the musical,” the waitress said with a wink. Hermione gasped. She hadn’t anticipated meeting someone else who had read the book as well. “In the book, he seemed somewhat selfish. In the musical, he is much nicer. You’ll definitely be rooting for him towards the end. Enjoy!” The waitress gave Hermione another wink and walked back to the kitchen.

The Grangers finished their meal in excited anticipation. Hermione could barely taste her shepherd's pie, she was eating it so quickly. The show didn’t start for another hour, but Hermione couldn’t wait to get into the theater and start the experience… and to see if the waitress was right about Marius. Marius, in the novel, was a young man who defied his rich, privileged family to fight for the French Revolution. Hermione, too, felt he could be quite selfish and entitled throughout the book. 

As they stepped inside the historic and massive red-bricked Palace Theatre, the Grangers were met with pure opulence. The lavish lobby was filled with people just as excited as they were. The grand staircase grew before them and the sparkling chandeliers cast a cascade of dancing lights throughout the lobby. Hermione was mesmerized by the Edwardian architecture and enamored of the history contained within it.

As the usher took the Grangers to their seats in the balcony, Hermione marveled at the stunning layout of the theater. There couldn’t possibly be a bad seat in the house. Her excitement was bubbling over, and she could hardly sit still. As the lights dimmed to black, however, Hermione turned to stone. The first few notes of  _ Les Misèrables  _ drifted up over the balcony, and Hermione was immediately transported (almost as if by magic) to the French Revolution.

\-----

“Brava! Brava!” Hermione bellowed enthusiastically, standing up with the rest of the audience as the cast took their bows. As the house lights brightened, Hermione turned to her parents. “Can we go to the stage door? Please?”

“Sure!” Mary said loudly to be heard over the thunderous applause. The Grangers snaked their way through the maze of people. Turning this way and that, they finally found themselves outside the theater. 

“This way,” said Hermione as she led them to the nondescript side door of the theater. It was painted a candy apple red colour, though the paint was flecking off in places to reveal black paint. A small crowd had already formed but not nearly as many as Hermione had thought there’d be. “That was exquisite,” she said, her breath catching slightly in her throat. “That waitress was right. Marius was… perfect. So brave. So loyal.”

Just as the words left her mouth, the stage door opened and out walked the actor who played Marius. His wavy blonde hair flopped over on his head and his crystal clear blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the street lights. Finnegan! It couldn’t be! With a second glance, Hermione could tell it wasn’t actually Finnegan, but the actor could have definitely been his twin. He glanced at the crowd, and his eyes found Hermione’s. She gasped and was, for one of the very few times in her life, rendered speechless. Her whole body froze as he made his way down the line towards the Grangers, signing autographs as he went. She could feel her heart fluttering as he got near. The tell-tale signs of her anxiety were bubbling to the surface, but instead of talking a mile a minute, not a single fact or figure could come to mind. It was a little frightening, but oddly calming in a way. Hermione’s head nearly never stopped. 

As he got to Hermione, Mary had to nudge her daughter to get her to put out her  _ Playbill  _ for the actor to sign. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked. Hermione barely nodded. 

“It was absolutely stunning,” Mary said. “I think we can all agree to that.” Mary nodded towards Hermione, who just nodded again. 

The actor knelt down to Hermione’s level and smiled as he pulled her Playbill out of her hands. “So you liked it, eh?” he said with a sparkling smile. “What was your favourite part?”

“Everything,” she squeaked. “It was so much better than the book.”

“You read the book, did ya?” the man said with surprise. “All of it? You’re my new hero! They had us read it to prepare for the show. It was a beast to get through, yeah? You must be really smart.” Hermione’s face flushed as red as the stage door. His hand brushed hers as he handed back the  _ Playbill,  _ and Hermione felt an electric pulse vibrate through her hand. 

“Best in her class,” Bert said, beaming.

“Dad,” Hermione hissed, the embarrassment bringing tears to her eyes.

“That’s great!” the actor said, not noticing (or not acknowledging) her embarrassment. “Congratulations! Keep at it, yeah? We need more smart people like you in the world.” Hermione nodded, and the actor gave her one last wink before moving down the line to the rest of the theatergoers waiting for his autograph. 

The Grangers got a few more signatures on their  _ Playbill _ , but Hermione couldn’t care less. She was completely enamoured with the actor who played Marius. In her mind, she imagined him (or Finnegan, she couldn’t tell), singing to her as he had to the character of Cosette (his love) in the show. She didn’t think of how much she missed Hogwarts the whole way back to the hotel. 

\-----

Hermione’s night was filled with dreams of the lyrical musings of a golden-haired angel. Not once did she have a nightmare about using the wrong charm on her exams or forgetting how to perform a spell when confronted with He Who Must Not Be Named, both of which had been a near-nightly occurrence since she returned home from Hogwarts. Hermione woke up more refreshed than she had quite possibly ever been in her life. 

The only slightly negative thing was that she hadn’t seen or heard an owl while she had been in London which meant she still hadn’t received her copy of  _ Magical Me _ . Perhaps it was the good night’s sleep; Hermione wasn’t too upset over it. In fact, she had an idea… a brilliant one if she said so herself.

“Good morning!” she said as she rolled out of bed into the small sitting area where Bert and Mary were sitting. “I know we have a full day planned, but I was hoping we could take a quick trip to Diagon Alley this morning so I could get a book for school.” Saying the Gilderoy Lockhart book was for school was a bit of a stretch but, technically, it was a book she wanted to read to connect with a future student, so Hermione could justify the white lie.

“Knowing you, a trip to the bookstore in Diagon Alley will never be ‘quick,’” said Mary.

“Nor will it be cheap,” added Bert with a chuckle.

“I promise. Just one book and then we can come back here to London and do everything on our list.”

“Ok, I suppose we could pop over there quickly,” said Mary. “But how will we get there if not through the fireplace?” 

“The Leaky Cauldron is just over on Charing Cross Road - right by the Palace Theatre, actually - and that is where we can access Diagon Alley from.”

“Well, I guess that settles things,” Bert said, pulling out his weathered leather wallet and looking inside. “We may have to stop at the Muggle bank on the way there, though.” Hermione didn’t even hear him - she was too excited to go back to the Wizarding World, even if just for a little bit.

\-----

As they passed the Palace Theatre, Hermione couldn’t help herself but constantly scan the crowd for the actor who played Marius (his real name was Eddie Rouse, but Hermione much preferred the name “Marius” or “Finnegan” over a boring name like “Eddie”). Much to her dismay, she didn’t see him milling about the red brick facade. 

The Grangers turned right onto Charing Cross Road from Shaftesbury Avenue and walked through the crowds to a very nondescript, seemingly broken down shop Hermione knew to be the Leaky Cauldron. As they walked, Hermione rattled off the history. “Did you know that when the London city planners decided to create Charing Cross Road, the initial plan was to demolish all of the buildings already established, including the Leaky Cauldron? Our Minister of Magic at the time, Faris Spavin, thought it was a lost cause. However, hundreds of wizards rallied to save the Leaky Cauldron and convinced Minister Spavin to perform memory charms on the planners so they would build the road  _ next  _ to the Leaky Cauldron instead of on top of it. Fascinating, isn’t it? Ahh, here it is!” Hermione stopped and looked up at the rusty, deteriorating sign above her head. Right before her eyes, she watched it transform into the Leaky Cauldron sign. 

Seeing her parents’ apprehension to enter the dingy facade wedged between a Muggle record store and bookshop made her pause. She had forgotten they didn’t see what she did. “Due to the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, the Leaky Cauldron was subjected to a complete makeover to make it unappealing to Muggles. That’s why it looks like this to you both. We can’t have random Muggles entering Diagon Alley, can we? It’s perfectly safe, believe me. We’ve actually been there before, remember? We just entered it from the Diagon Alley side. You’ll see. Come on, then.” Bert and Mary exchanged worried looks before following Hermione into the grimy building. 

Even before Hermione’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione could  _ smell  _ the magic soaked within the walls. It was a bizarre mixture of new parchment, butterscotch, and a hint of rain that Hermione had never smelled anywhere else in the Muggle world. As soon as she smelled it, she knew: She was home. 

Giving a wave to Tom, the barkeep, Hermione led her parents through the dark and shabby pub area, through the courtyard, and out into Diagon Alley. The hustle and bustle were not un-similar to that of Piccadilly Circus, but there were a lot more interestingly dressed people. 

Trying desperately to stay true to her word to only go to the bookstore and back, Hermione turned north out of the Leaky Cauldron’s courtyard onto Diagon Alley towards  _ Flourish and Blotts _ , the premiere Wizarding bookstore. She had to avert her eyes as she passed  _ Scribbulus _ (the stationery store) because she loved perusing the different quills and parchments and didn’t want to be tempted. Nonetheless, she had one thing on her mind: Gilderoy Lockhart’s book. 

The weathered brass bell sprinkled its sound as Hermione opened the heavy door to  _ Flourish and Blotts.  _ From floor to ceiling, all Hermione could see were piles and stacks of books. Leather books, paper books, furry books -  _ Flourish and Blotts  _ seemed to have every book imaginable. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as it was when Hermione last visited (with the back-to-school crowd), but there was a small group of people huddled around a medium-sized display. Hermione craned her neck to see around the witches huddled together to see what the excitement was. She gasped. There, larger than life on the cover of about 30 books displayed into a pyramid shape, was the perfect combination of Marius and Finnegan. 

_ Magical Me, _ by Gilderoy Lockhart, had a gilded frame on its dark-purple cover. Inside the frame, Mr. Lockhart himself was smiling back, seemingly directly at Hermione. Posing in different positions, his bright blue eyes and floppy golden hair glittered in the flashbulbs. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. The resemblance to Marius and Finnegan was uncanny. 

She squeezed her way through the group of witches and snatched the first copy she could reach. Ducking underneath a particularly plump witch in scarlet robes, Hermione was able to get back to where her parents were standing. “That’s the book you need for school, eh?” Mary asked with a hint of suspicion in her voice. “I thought it’d be a textbook.”

“Erm, it is,” Hermione said slowly, trying to figure out how to answer. “Well, kind of. It’s more for a book club I’m in rather than a class.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” Mary exclaimed, all suspicion gone from her voice. “I was in quite a few book clubs when I was in school. Made some of my best friends in those. You know my friends Conni and Samantha? We met in book club!”

“Oh yes, I remember them,” Hermione said almost automatically; she was only half-listening to her mother because she was too busy studying Gilderoy Lockhart on the cover. The moving portrait was so crisp and clear. She could make out every perfectly placed hair on his perfect head. She absentmindedly ran her finger over the cover.

“So how much is that, then?” asked Bert, snapping Hermione out of her trance. “I’m going to have to go exchange some money I think.” 

“Oh no, you don’t have to, Dad,” Hermione said. “I already prepaid. I just have to tell them I’m here to pick it up.” She smiled at him and bounced over to the counter. A harried assistant clerk was looking warily over to the group of women around the Gilderoy Lockhart display and didn’t notice Hermione approaching. 

Hermione, not wanting to appear rude, just stood in silence and tried to will the assistant to look at her with her mind. After about a minute, Hermione quietly cleared her throat. Nothing. Hermione tried again. Nothing again. She was starting to get anxious. She didn’t want to be a bother and certainly didn’t want to interrupt what she knew was probably a rare moment of downtime for the assistant, but she also didn’t want to keep her parents waiting for more than was necessary. Hermione decided to try clearing her throat one more time. Unfortunately, she tried to swallow at the exact same time and started coughing uncontrollably, which certainly got the attention of the assistant immediately.

“Alright love?” she asked with a slightly concerned look on her face.

Hermione tried to reply but couldn’t stop coughing. Bert and Mary rushed over and started hitting Hermione upon the back to try to help her breathe. The assistant looked horrified and rushed over with her wand. “What on earth are you doing to her? Stop it!” she yelled and then pointed the wand at Hermione. “Anapneo!” she cried and orange sparks shot out of her wand towards Hermione’s throat.

Immediately, Hermione felt her throat open up and gulped the air. Finally, she could breathe! “Are you ok?” the assistant asked warily.

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione replied, her voice still shaky. 

“And what earth were you doing that for?” the assistant turned her attention towards the Grangers. “Hitting the poor girl as she was choking! Do you know these two, love? I should jinx them, I should.”

“No!” exclaimed Hermione. “I mean yes, I know them! They’re my parents. They’re Muggles. That’s what we do when people are choking.” 

Realization crossed the assistant’s face before morphing into a slight scowl Hermione almost didn’t catch. “Makes no sense to hit someone who’s choking. Muggles aren’t the brightest, are they.”

Hermione bristled slightly. The clerk must surely be joking. Regardless, she ignored the statement. “Anyways,” she started, hoping the clerk took notice of the change in subject, ”I ordered this book by owl but haven't received it yet. So I thought to save an owl another trip, I’d just come to pick it up while my family was in London. That is, if it’s not a huge inconvenience to you.” Hermione hoped the clerk would recognize the sarcasm.

“Oh, it’s no inconvenience at all,” the assistant said with a flick of her wand. From behind the counter, a warped brown box filled with order forms flew up. “What’s the name on the order? I was going to get to these today or tomorrow. Just didn’t get around to it.”

“Granger. Hermione Granger.”

“Accio Granger Order Form,” said the clerk with another flick of her wand. A slip of paper near the bottom of the box flew upwards into the clerk’s hand. Unfortunately, all of the papers that had rested on top of that paper flew up as well and showered the clerk, counter, and Grangers. “Found it,” she said dismally, holding the form up in the air while looking down at the mess that had been made.

“Here, let me help you with these,” Hermione said and dropped to the floor to start collecting the forms littering the ground.

“You sure you’re not a muggle too, dear? There’s this thing called magic, you know,” said the clerk with more than a hint of reproach before swishing her wand again. “Colliglio,” she said and all of the order forms collected into a neat stack on the counter. 

“No, I’m going into my second year at Hogwarts,” Hermione said sternly. She certainly wasn’t worried about being a bother anymore, nor was she uncertain of the assistant’s true feelings about her and her family. “I just can’t do magic since I am underage.” 

“Right, right,” the clerk said but wasn’t very convincing. 

“So, are we good then?” Hermione asked. She wanted to leave the bookstore as soon as possible. Never having experienced any sort of mean-spiritedness like this before in the wizarding world, Hermione didn’t want to continue to feel the way the clerk was making her feel and have it ruin her trip to the Wizarding World.

“Yes, all set! Do you want a bag for that?” the clerk said, but Hermione was already on her way out of the store.

\-----

The Grangers had a delightful day taking in the London sights and sounds, but Hermione couldn’t shake a feeling of profound sadness.  _ Flourish and Blotts _ was her “happy place” within her “happy place” of the Wizarding World. The best of the best, so to speak. She had always feared she’d feel out of place in the Wizarding World for being a Muggle-born but had never experienced it fully until the interaction with the clerk.

Hermione did her best, however, to forget the altercation and focus on the beautiful history of London. She was also ashamed to admit it also helped to sneak a peek at Gilderoy Lockhart’s smiling face on the cover of  _ Magical Me _ every once in a while as well. She knew she was being as irrational as Lavender Brown was when it came to an infatuation with boys, but she couldn’t help herself. Besides - it seemed like all of the witches in London were obsessed with Gilderoy Lockhart and, seeing as Hermione was a witch, she should be obsessed as well. 

When she was much, much younger (a whole year ago), Hermione used to give her anxiety a nickname - “word vomit.” Whenever her anxiety would rise up, rattling off facts and figures was the only thing to calm her. The monotonous relay of facts made her concentrate on something other than the anxiety. Hermione had been working on keeping her mouth closed during these anxiety attacks and focusing on her breathing instead. It helped a bit, especially today after the encounter at  _ Flourish and Blotts.  _

Mary, Bert, and Hermione exhaustedly crawled through their hotel room door around half-past eight that evening. Hermione was quite sure she had never walked so much in her life. She flopped down on her bed and pulled her book out of her bag as her parents took turns washing the city grime off in the shower. If she had to wait her turn for the shower, she could at least start reading her book.

The minute she opened the book, Hermione was transported into the Wizarding World of Gilderoy Lockhart. A herd of wild dragons couldn’t have pulled Hermione away from losing herself within the pages. All of her anxiety and sadness disappeared within the pages and photos of one of the bravest wizards Hermione had ever read about. Just as Marius had gallantly stood up for what was right and fought for the resistance, and just as Finnegan always had a highly entertaining story to brighten Hermione’s lonely days, Gilderoy Lockhart fought against the dark arts and completely entranced her with his captivating narrative. An honorary member of the Ministry of Magic's Dark Force Defence League, Lockhart seemed to be able to defeat all things evil. From trolls (which Hermione knew first hand were tricky creatures to fight) to vampires, he conquered them all. He was invincible. Hermione highly doubted Gilderoy Lockhart would ever let some random bookstore clerk bother him. No wonder he was so popular amongst witches everywhere.

Hermione was already halfway through the book when her mom interrupted her. “The shower’s all yours,” she said. “How’s the book?”

“Brilliant,” Hermione said with a huge smile and practically ran into the bathroom to shower as quickly as possible so she could continue (with all of the other witches across the countryside) reading all about the bravery and intelligence of Gilderoy Lockhart.

\-----

The Grangers had been home in Lavenham for a few weeks after their trip to London when Hermione finally finished her tenth reread of  _ Magical Me _ . She celebrated the milestone by decorating her room with lilac streamers (Gilderoy’s favourite colour) and had a large helping of treacle tarts (his favourite food).

Reading Gilderoy’s magical adventures successfully kept Hermione tied to the Wizarding World all summer. Every time she missed her friends or the magic of Hogwarts, she just had to read a chapter, and she felt closer to them (because they were probably doing the same, to be honest). His bravery and intelligence were something Hermione could strive to achieve in the coming year at Hogwarts, and she fully intended on working doubly as hard to do so. 

Corresponding with Ginny Weasley had been delightful as well. She desperately missed Ron (and Harry), but being pen pals with his sister was the next best thing. Ginny was delightfully funny and sarcastic, especially for a newly 11-year-old (she’d celebrated her birthday in August). They talked about all kinds of things, especially Gilderoy Lockhart and the upcoming year at Hogwarts. 

Their most recent conversation settled around Ron and how dissimilar Ginny thought he was to Gilderoy Lockhart, but then diverged into some troubling news:

> _ Honestly, the prat cried like a baby, and I hardly even did anything to him. Can you imagine? I doubt Gilderoy Lockhart has ever cried in his life, even when he was captured by the trolls in the wilds of Stockton-on-Tees. He’s just so brave, just like you and Harry were when you were attacked by the troll last year. I’d imagine Harry is a lot like Gilderoy, would you agree? _
> 
> _ Speaking of Harry, I heard Ron talking to Fred and George about breaking him out of his aunt and uncle’s house (since no one has heard from him yet this summer) and then bringing him here tonight. Have you heard anything? Did you get Ron’s letter yet? He sent it with Errol a day or two ago when they were planning it. If not, you should be receiving it today. I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow morning if they went through with it. I have to be honest… I’m very nervous to “really” meet Harry. I know I met him briefly on Platform Nine and Three Quarters last year, but... _

Hermione didn’t even finish reading Ginny’s letter. She was so worried and quite frankly enraged that Ron would do something so stupid. Even if Harry was potentially in danger, breaking him out of his aunt and uncle’s house was reckless, dangerous, and probably illegal in the Muggle world. Ron (and his brothers) never thought things through. They immediately went for the easiest plan, not the smartest plan. She went to her room and grabbed the nearest parchment and quill. This was too serious to even boot up the computer for. Her mind was going so fast she was afraid the computer wouldn’t be able to catch up. 

> _ Dear Ron (and Harry if you’re there), _
> 
> _ I hope everything went alright and that Harry is okay and that you didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I’ve been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once… _

There was a sudden bang on the window. Hermione gasped and looked up. There was nothing there. Hermione crept over to the window and looked down. Errol, the Weasley’s old owl, was there laying on the ground, completely stunned. Beside him lay a crumpled up envelope. Hermione rushed outside and grabbed them both. By the time she had come back inside, Errol was, thankfully, starting to stir. Hermione shook her head in disgust before quickly adding to her letter:

> _...but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off… _

Hermione stopped again to open Ron’s letter. The greyish envelope was creased and wrinkled as if Ron had balled it up multiple times before giving it to poor Errol. Hermione unfurled the corner and slipped her finger inside to rip the seal. 

> _ ‘Mione, _
> 
> _ Fred, George, and I are going to break Harry out of prison and bring him here to the Burrow. Just thought you would want to know.  _
> 
> _ Ron _
> 
> _ P.S. That's 26 words. You’re welcome. _

Hermione groaned, anger flushing over her. The nerve of that boy! How dare he try to make a joke at a time like this!? She took a deep breath and swept the quill back and forth against her chin, trying to calm down. There was a task at hand. She knew that if she came on too strong, Ron wouldn’t tell her what happened. Finally, she put the quill back to the parchment.

> _ I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course, and we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley? _
> 
> _ Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can.  _
> 
> _ Love from Hermione. _

That seemed to cover all of the bases. Hermione gave the letter one more look before stuffing it in an envelope. On the front of the envelope, she wrote “RON!!!” in large, swoopy capital letters that she hoped would push him to open it immediately. Hermione paused. Ron wasn’t the most astute man she knew. She added the words, “Open this immediately, Ronald!” on the bottom of the envelope. 

It took Errol a few hours to recover from his flight. Hermione still felt guilty making the poor bird fly back to the Burrow, but there was nothing much she could do. As Errol flew erratically through the sky, Hermione sighed and tried to focus on an eleventh re-read of  _ Magical Me _ instead of whatever bone-headed plan was probably falling apart over in Little Whinging at Harry’s aunt and uncle’s house.


	4. At Flourish and Blotts (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. Please don't sue me!
> 
> This is a retelling of the first Harry Potter book from the point of view of the clever and brave Hermoine Granger. As such, in future chapters, I have woven some of Rowling’s original text into my own thoughts and words. This is in order to stay true to the original text, but also allow for the exploration of how things surrounding the Chosen One unfolded from Hermoine’s involvement. There will be both descriptions, as well as dialogue, that may be familiar to readers. Again, I do not own this book or these characters, I am simply expounding on the canon events... please don't sue me.
> 
> Also, this book is FINISHED but I am working with some friends to proofread it. Please keep in mind the following facts:  
> 1.) I am not British, nor do I claim to be. I tried my best to make this as British as possible. If my best is not good enough for you, you can move on.  
> 2.) I did this for fun. I had no idea what fanfiction was before I got drunk and decided it was a brilliant idea to rewrite all 7 books from Hermione's perspective. I started this project with my friends and family as the only readers in my mind. If you're not having fun and would like to critique something in these 80k words, you can move on.  
> 3.) I poured over the books, wikis, and any other source material I could. There are going to be errors with the canon. I can guarantee it. However, I'd like to believe the number of non-errors far outweigh the errors and you should try focusing on that.

**Chapter Four: At Flourish and Blotts (Again)**

It took two whole days for Ron to respond to Hermione about what had happened. Thankfully for Ron, Ginny had already filled her in. Had Ginny not sent her a letter, Hermione was quite certain she would have been on the first bus to Devon to track down the Burrow and find out for herself… which would not have bode well for Ron. 

According to Ginny, her father, Arthur, had been tinkering around with a Muggle car and figured out how to make it fly. The twins, along with Ron, flew the light blue Ford Anglia across the English countryside to the Dursley’s home in Little Whinging in the middle of the night. There, they decided it was a perfectly acceptable idea (it was not) to attach the car to the bars on Harry’s window and pull him out through there. Hermione was so flabbergasted no one was hurt, maimed, or expelled in the adventure that it barely even registered how horrible it was that the Dursleys had put bars on Harry’s bedroom windows to keep him inside. 

The realization of the horrible conditions Harry must have been subjected to over the summer finally hit Hermione on the long bus ride (the Grangers' station wagon didn’t seem up for another trip) to London early Wednesday morning. As she had mentioned in her letter to Ron, the Grangers were going back to Diagon Alley to get all of Hermione’s school books and equipment for her second year, and she planned on meeting up with them that day. She couldn’t even fathom what it must have been like for Harry to live in those conditions. Hermione did know one thing for sure: Harry probably couldn’t wait to return to Hogwarts just as Hermione couldn’t as well.

The escape plan drama took up so much of her thoughts that Hermione almost didn’t realize that she hadn’t received her second-year list from Hogwarts. However (like magic), as soon as Hermione realized the information hadn’t arrived, a school owl tapped on the window with a bulky envelope in its beak. Within the envelope were two pieces of parchment. On the first:

> _Dear Ms. Granger,_
> 
> _Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King’s Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o’clock._
> 
> _A list of books for next year is enclosed._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_
> 
> _Professor M. McGonagall_
> 
> _Deputy Headmistress_

Hermione smiled. She couldn’t wait to see Professor McGonagall again. Hermione’s greatest surprise, however, came with the second sheet of paper beneath the Hogwarts crest:

> SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:
> 
> _The Standard Book of Spells_ , Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk
> 
> _Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart
> 
> _Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart
> 
> _Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart
> 
> _Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart
> 
> _Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart
> 
> _Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart
> 
> _Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Hermione had been trying to come up with a justification to ask her parents to buy her all of Gilderoy Lockhart’s books, and this was the perfect reason why! Obviously, whoever they found to be this year’s Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher was (rightfully so) a Gilderoy Lockhart fan. Hermione was so excited to learn more about her hero and the techniques he used against all of the foes he fought. Gilderoy Lockhart was undoubtedly all the rage around London, and Hermione couldn’t wait to be included in the fun, especially with her friends by her side).

Since Ron couldn’t be trusted to come up with any sort of well-developed plan, Hermione and Ginny had been planning on when and where to meet: the plan was for the Grangers to go to Gringotts to exchange some money first and then catch up with the Weasleys to get the books. Hermione, however, suspected it’d make much more sense to meet at Gringotts since everyone would have to get money out, but Ginny was pretty adamant about meeting at _Flourish and Blotts_. Hermione suspected Ginny was embarrassed at the Weasley’s lack of wealth and didn’t want Hermione to see anything potentially embarrassing at the bank.

Hermione didn’t care one bit about how many Galleons the Weasleys had; she was just excited to see them all, especially her new friend, Ginny! As the Grangers walked down Diagon Alley towards Gringotts, her excitement grew and grew. It was much busier than the last time they had been there, probably because it was almost time for school.

As they walked up the snow-white marbled steps, Hermione’s heart soared. It was almost all too much. Hermione turned briefly to look out over Diagon Alley from her higher vantage point on the steps, mostly so she could catch her breath and calm her heart for a beat or two. 

Unfortunately, once she looked out over Diagon Alley, there was to be absolutely no chance for her heartbeat to return to normal. A few meters away, there was the unmistakable towering groundskeeper of Hogwarts, Hagrid, walking through the crowds. There was no mistaking his wiry brown hair and his gigantic frame. He towered over all of the other wizards and witches by a few feet at the very least. 

And there, next to Hagrid, was a small mess of dark brown hair bouncing along. It was Harry! Hermione would know that mop of hair anywhere.

“Harry! Harry! Over here!” she called and bounced down the steps. “I’ll meet you inside!” she called over her shoulder to her parents. She knew they wouldn’t dare venture very far in the Wizarding World without her as a guide - they were always so anxious when it came to anything magical - but they’d be ok in Gringotts. 

Harry must have heard her calling to him because he looked up and grinned. Hermione’s heart soared. She tried to assess him and the situation as she flew down the steps to greet them. The first thing Hermione noticed about him was how incredibly skinny he looked. The Dursley’s mustn’t have fed him well over the summer holiday. The second thing Hermione noticed about Harry was wildly disheveled: his glasses were broken, and he was covered in soot. 

“What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid — Oh, it’s wonderful to see you two again — Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?” she said, slightly out of breath. There was just so much to say, but she had to catch her breath first. Her mind was going a million miles a minute.

“As soon as I’ve found the Weasleys,” said Harry. Hermione was confused. Wasn’t that who he came with to Diagon Alley? She was just about to ask, but Hagrid beat her to it.

“Yeh won’t have long ter wait,” Hagrid said with a grin.

Hermione spun around and saw Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley sprinting up the crowded street. There was no question it was them - their fiery red hair glowed in the early morning sun. 

Before Hermione could say hello, Mr. Weasley ran over to Harry. “Harry,” he panted. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far…” He mopped his brow with a green and orange polka dot kerchief. “Molly’s frantic — she’s coming now —”

“Where did you come out?” Ron asked, causing Hermione to whip her attention back to him. She was trying to figure out what the fuss was and not succeeding. Everyone was talking so fast.

“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly.

“Excellent!” said Fred and George together.

“We’ve never been allowed in,” said Ron enviously.

“I should ruddy well think not,” growled Hagrid.

“Oh, Harry — oh, my dear — you could have been anywhere —” came another voice from behind where Hermione was standing. She spun again and saw Molly Weasley gasping for breath. Next to her was a short girl of 11 with bright red hair and a smattering of freckles. Ginny! Hermione gave her a huge smile, which Ginny returned shyly. 

Mrs. Weasley pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot covering Harry’s clothes. Mr. Weasley took Harry’s glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

Almost as if she was listening on a delay, Mrs. Weasley stopped brushing Harry abruptly. “Knockturn Alley!” she cried and turned to Hagrid. “If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!” She grabbed Hagrid’s hand in shock. Hermione could tell Hagrid was uncomfortable with the display of gratitude as he tried to slip from her grasp as carefully as a giant could.

“Well, gotta be off,” he said, finally breaking free of Mrs. Weasley. “See yer at Hogwarts!” And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

As the group said their goodbyes to Hagrid, Hermione took a few steps to stand next to Ginny. With a giant wink, she thrust out her hand to Ginny. Part of their plan was to pretend they didn’t know each other. “You must be Ronald’s sister, Ginerva.”

“Ginny,” she said with a wink of her own. “And you must be Hermione.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hermione said with a smile. She was about to continue the facade as the group started to walk up the bank’s grey-white steps but was interrupted by Harry, who had snuck up behind her.

“Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?” Harry asked. “Malfoy and his father.” Draco Malfoy was a particularly annoying Slytherin student at Hogwarts who seemed to make it his sole ambition in life to bully Hermione, Harry, and Ron ferociously. Draco thought he was better than everyone else because he was rich. Hermione couldn’t stand him. He was a selfish prat who also wasn’t very smart. 

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them. By his tone, Hermione concluded Mr. Weasley couldn’t stand the Malfoys either.

“No, he was selling —”

“So he’s worried,” said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something. …” Mr. Weasley worked for the Ministry. 

“You be careful, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew —”

“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione’s parents. The Grangers were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the grand marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them. She saw their eyes light up at the sight of her and immediately felt terrible for leaving them. She led the Weasleys and Harry over to them. Mr. Weasley was so excited to see them.

“You’re Muggles!” said Mr. Weasley delightedly. “We must have a drink! What’s that you’ve got there? Oh, you’re changing Muggle money. Molly, look!” He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Bert’s hand. Hermione could tell Bert was utterly overwhelmed and tried to ease their discomfort. Mr. Weasley was completely harmless but absolutely obsessed with all things Muggles. 

“Mum, Dad, you remember Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?” she said.

“Oh yes, of course,” Bert said stiffly, holding on to the notes.

“Mr. Weasley works at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggles Artifacts Department. He just finds our Muggle money fascinating,“ Hermione continued as calmly as she could, trying to subtly explain why Mr. Weasley was so fascinated with her parents. Mary was able to force a smile through her discomfort.

“Ah, yes, we find most everything in the Wizarding World fascinating as well,” she said. Hermione was so proud of her for trying. She went over to her mom and gave her hand a squeeze. 

Mrs. Weasley opened her arms wide and started to push all of her children and husband toward a goblin, ready to take them to their vaults beneath the bank. “Let’s go, dear. We can’t do anything without money.”

“Right,” said Mr. Weasley excitedly over his shoulder. “We have to go down to our vaults, but let’s get that drink when we’re done!”

“Meet you back here,” Ron said to Hermione as he rolled his eyes. Hermione watched the group disappear behind the door. She turned and smiled at her parents.

“They’re a little overwhelming, but they mean well,” she assured them. 

“I remember them from the Hogwarts Express,” Mary said. Mrs. Weasley had helped Bert and Mary figure out how to get back to the Muggle world from Platform 9 ¾ when Hermione first went to Hogwarts. “Wonderfully nice people. Just… eccentric.”

“That’s definitely one way of putting it,” Hermione laughed.

The Grangers queued in the line marked “Muggle Exchange Area” by a large sign gilded in gold. Below it was the following:

_1 Knut is equal to £0.04/$0.05*_

_There are 29 Knuts to a Sickle._

_1 Sickle is equal to £1.17/$1.50*_

_There are 17 Sickles to a Galleon._

_1 Galleon is equal to £20/$25.50*_

_*Subject to current Muggle Exchange Rates._

Finally, a goblin with grey tufts of hair and a shiny gold monocle called the Grangers up to the counter. “How much are you exchanging?” he asked with a bored and lazy tone.

“Erm,” Bert said, fumbling with his wallet and the odd number of notes in his hand. “How much did we do again last year ‘Moine?”

“About £3,000,” she answered guiltily. “But it may be a bit more this year with the book list. They’re all books by Gilderoy Lockhart, and they’re kind of pricey.” She felt terrible her parents had to pay so much money, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She tried to justify it by comparing it to the absorbent cost it would be for her to study abroad, though her justification didn’t help much.

“£3,500,” Bert said to the goblin and placed a combination of notes and a cheque on the counter. The goblin pushed a stack of coins back almost immediately. Hermione could tell Bert wasn’t expecting the coins so quickly by the way he nearly knocked over the piles when he jumped back. The ease and speed in which those in the Wizarding World could operate were definitely hard to get used to for a Muggle. It took Hermione quite a few weeks of school to not be startled.

“Erm, thank you,” Bert said, looking at the large stacks without a clue as to what to do with them. Hermione stepped up to the counter with her bag and started sweeping the piles inside. Once she collected all of the coins, Hermione ushered her parents outside to wait for Harry and the Weasleys. She hoped being outside would be a little less overwhelming for them. 

After a few minutes of people watching (which never got old), the Grangers noticed the Weasleys and Harry emerging from the set of burnished bronze doors. Hermione waved to get their attention, and they all rushed over to them. Before Hermione could run interference, Mr. Weasley had his arm around Bert and was walking in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. “Would love to buy you that drink if you have time,” Hermione heard Mr. Weasley say over the din of the crowd. Bert looked back over his shoulder at Hermione and Mary with what could only be described as “help me” eyes.

“I should probably tag along,” Mary said with a small chuckle. “Are you ok if I go with them?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Hermione said and gave Mary’s hand another little squeeze. Mary started after her husband and Mr. Weasley towards the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone else in the group began to splinter off all at once.

“I need some more quills,” Percy, one of Ron’s older brothers and a Gryffindor Prefect, mumbled, but strangely started in the direction opposite of _Amanuensis Quills_ . Fred and George also broke away from the group towards _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ in hopes of finding their fellow Gryffindor, Lee Jordan. 

“We’ll all meet at _Flourish and Blotts_ in an hour to buy your school books,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. “And not one step down Knockturn Alley!” she shouted at the twins’ retreating backs.

Hermione knew Ginny didn’t want to go with her mom, but there was nothing Hermione could do without giving away their secret correspondence. Besides, Ginny needed to get her first-year robes, whereas Hermione still fit in her ones from last year. 

Hermione set off with Harry and Ron along the winding, cobbled street. It was wonderful just being with them, walking around in the magical town. It took everything Hermione had not to start asking a million questions of her two best friends as they seemed to want to walk in silence, but, after about a minute, she couldn’t control herself.

“I simply cannot wait another second!” she blurted out. “What happened this summer? Harry, why didn’t you write me back? Ron, what happened when you went to Harry’s uncle’s house?” Hermione almost missed the eye roll Ron gave Harry but caught it at the last minute. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Ronald Weasley. It’s not my fault you didn’t feel the need to keep me updated all summer.”

“Blimey, Hermione. Calm down, will ya?” Ron said.

“I will not calm down, Ron,” Hermione said. She was starting to get angry and could feel the anxiety begin to rise within her. “I was alone all summer without any news of why Harry wasn’t replying to my letters. The least you could--”

“About that,” Harry interrupted her. “I had no idea you were writing to me. Honest. I never got a single letter.”

“Well, that makes absolutely no sense because--” Hermione started, but Harry put up a hand.

“Turns out all of my mail was being taken before I could see it,” he said.

Hermione gasped. “Your aunt and uncle?”

Harry shook his head. “No, actually. Though I bet they’d have if they could. No, a house elf named Dobby stole my mail all summer.”

“A house elf?” Hermione asked. Why would a house elf take Harry’s mail?

“Yeah. I guess Dobby doesn’t want me to go back to Hogwarts, so he stole all of my mail, so I’d think you lot didn’t care about me.”

“That’s positively bizarre,” Hermione said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry said as they entered _Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour_. “He said he worked for the Malfoys and heard them say that I’d be in danger if I returned to Hogwarts, so he tried to keep me from going.”

“What kind of danger?” Hermione gasped.

“He wouldn’t tell me. Malfoy probably put him up to it. Doesn’t matter, though. I’m going back to Hogwarts no matter what,” he replied. They reached the counter. “Hi, yes, can I have three strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams?” Harry asked the clerk.

“Harry, you should really tell someone,” Hermione whispered loudly as Harry passed her ice cream cone to her. The last thing she wanted was another year full of danger. Had they only told a teacher last year, things would have been much different and much less dangerous.

“See? Told you she’d say that,” Ron joked. Hermione flashed him an angry look.

“It’s fine, Hermione,” Harry said. “Nothing is going to happen. I promise.”

They continued to slurp their ice cream cones as they wandered around Diagon Alley. Hermione’s mind couldn’t help but continuously whirl around, trying to make sense of Dobby’s warning. What kind of danger could Harry be in? Did it involve He Who Must Not Be Named again? The ball of nerves was getting bigger and bigger. Hermione could hardly focus.

Ron was gazing longingly at a full set of Quidditch robes in the _windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies_ when Hermione realized they were right next to _Amanuensis Quills._ Hermione dragged Ron and Harry inside. She knew a new, fresh set of parchment and quills would make herself feel better (and she was right, as usual).

After getting a beautiful maroon and gold quill and a pack of 1000 sheets of parchment, Hermione felt slightly better. The three friends went into _Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop_. There, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Hermione knew they were stocking up for a school year full of pranks and shook her head at the thought. 

A little further down the alley was a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains. Hermione had never been inside. There, they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and profoundly boring book called _Prefects Who Gained Power_.

“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron read aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating. …”

“Go away,” Percy snapped.

“ ’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out… He wants to be Minister of Magic…” Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they walked back out into the cobblestone street. Hermione, unlike Harry and Ron, didn’t mind Percy. She immensely admired his ambition and quest for knowledge and secretly shared his aspirations of becoming Minister of Magic. 

An hour later, they headed for _Flourish and Blotts_ to meet up with the rest of the group. Hermione remembered the last time she was at _Flourish and Blotts_ and how the clerk made her feel with a ball of nerves in her stomach. She knew it wouldn’t happen on this trip now that she was with Harry and Ron. With them, Hermione felt as though she could do and be anything. Nonetheless, the memory still was excruciating, and she could feel her anxiety rise with every step.

They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, to their surprise, they saw a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. A large banner stretched across the upper windows:

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

_will be signing copies of his autobiography_

_MAGICAL ME_

_today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m._

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed. “I mean, he’s written almost the whole booklist!” Her heart was beating out of her chest. Any undesirable thought or ball of anxiety Hermione had been thinking or feeling immediately vanished. She couldn’t believe she was going to see him in person!

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. Hermione spotted the clerk who had been so rude standing at the door, saying, “Calmly, please, ladies… Don’t push, there… mind the books, now…” She was sure to give her a dirty look as she squeezed inside with Harry and Ron, but realized seeing the rude witch didn’t bother her at all. In just a few seconds, Hermione was going to see the man who helped her survive the summer. Plus, she was with Harry and Ron. Nothing could ruin the excitement she was feeling at that moment.

A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books, in all his bravery and glory. Harry and Ron each grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells_ , Grade 2. Luckily for Hermione, Harry grabbed her one as well and handed it to her. She wasn’t even paying attention. The three of them sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

“Oh, there you are, good,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. “We’ll be able to see him in a minute…” Hermione squeezed in between her parents and Ginny and tried extremely hard not to jump up and down with glee. Ginny looked like she was doing the same. 

As they slowly moved up in the queue, Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view. He was seated at a table surrounded by all of his books. He was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and she could feel her face flush. She was even more flustered than when she saw Finnegan or Marius. Gilderoy was perfect, even in person.

A short, irritable-looking man danced around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted purple smoke puffs with every blinding flash.

“Out of the way, there,” he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the Daily Prophet —”

“Big deal,” said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him and looked up. Hermione gasped. Then he leaped to his feet and positively shouted, “It can’t be Harry Potter?”

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry’s arm, and pulled him to the front. In the process, he brushed Hermione’s arm. She gasped again, touching the very spot in awe. She knew she was being slightly irrational, but she didn’t care. Gilderoy Lockhart touched her arm!

The crowd burst into applause, snapping Hermione out of her trance. She joined them enthusiastically. She watched Harry go to the front and start shaking Lockhart’s hand as he smiled for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over Hermione and the Weasleys. 

“Oy!” said Ron, trying to wave the smoke away. “Bugger this. I’m just going to go get my books. You want me to grab yours too, ‘Moine?” Hermione was so enamored with being so close to Lockhart that she didn’t even realize Ron had asked to do something nice for her. She nodded absentmindedly before Ron stormed away. She didn’t even notice him leave, however. Her eyes were locked on Lockhart.

“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his gleaming teeth. “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”

When he finally let go of Harry’s hand, Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said thunderously, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

“When young Harry here stepped into _Flourish and Blotts_ today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge —” The crowd applauded again. “He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Hermione didn’t even try this time. She and Ginny grabbed each other’s hands and started jumping up and down in delight. They nearly knocked over the Ginny’s new (to her) cauldron she had set at her feet. Hermione was basically in shock. Could it possibly be true? Gilderoy Lockhart was going to teach her at Hogwarts?!

The crowd cheered and clapped as Lockhart presented Harry with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, back to where Hermione and Ginny were still giggling like excited little school girls (which they were).

“You have these,” Harry mumbled to Ginny, tipping the books into the cauldron. “I’ll buy my own —”

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” said a voice Hermione had no trouble recognizing. Her excitement faltered. “Famous Harry Potter,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said Ginny. She was glaring at Malfoy. Hermione joined her in her dirty look.

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet. All of a sudden, Ron was next to them.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.” Draco pointed to the two sets of books Ron was carrying.

Ron’s face went as red as Ginny’s did. He dropped his books into the cauldron and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here. Let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley,” came a slithering voice.

That snake-like voice had to belong to Mr. Malfoy, Draco’s father. There was no denying the family resemblance. With his platinum blonde hair, the sneering wizard stood with his hands smugly on his son’s shoulders. 

“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids … I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, an ancient, very battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ Ginny must have grabbed at the same second-hand shop she had purchased the cauldron.

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy. Hermione watched in absolute horror and disgust as his pale eyes flicked over to where her parents stood. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower —”

Hermione was just about to lay into Mr. Malfoy when there was a thud of metal. Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Hermione backed up towards her parents as dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please — please!” cried one of the other clerks and then, louder than all —

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up —”

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant, he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip, and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. He was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your father can give you —” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip, he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

“Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,” said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter — bad blood, that’s what it is — come on now — let’s get outta here.”

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid’s waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury. Hermione tried to calm them down to no avail. Both Bert and Mary looked like they were about to pass out from fright. The only thing Hermione could think of was to get them as far away from Flourish and Blotts as possible. As they followed the group, Hermione could hear Mrs. Weasley’s shrill voice.

“A fine example to set for your children … brawling in public … what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought —”

“He was pleased,” said Fred. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the _Daily Prophet_ if he’d be able to work the fight into his report — said it was all publicity —”

Hermione shook her head. She doubted Gilderoy would do something so selfish. She turned her attention back to her parents. They seemed to have started to calm down a bit since they started walking. “I’m sorry,” Hermione said near tears. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“We’re fine,” said Mary, though her voice was still a bit shaky.

“We’ve had our fair share of brawls,” Bert added with a lopsided grin, though Hermione could still sense his unease.

As the motley group reached The Leaky Cauldron, it was time to say goodbye. The Weasleys and Harry were going to use the Floo Network to return to the Burrow, and the Grangers were going to catch the next bus back to Lavenham. Hopefully, Harry wouldn’t mispronounce the name of his destination as he had when they had arrived in Diagon Alley (Hermione had learned that was why Harry was covered in soot when she first saw him - he had accidentally sent himself to Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley). 

Finally, it was time to say goodbye. Hermione was holding back tears. She didn’t want to say goodbye to her friends but was comforted in the fact they’d be together again soon enough at Hogwarts. “And,” she reminded herself so she wouldn’t tear up, “Gilderoy Lockhart would be at Hogwarts waiting for us.”


	5. The Return to Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give a shout out to my awesomely cool little cousin, Finn, who helped me with the sorting hat song!

The final two weeks until the start of the new school term were absolute torture. Hermione was desperate to return to Hogwarts and see all of her friends and positively ecstatic to learn from the great Gilderoy Lockhart. She was so glad Ginny had tipped her off to such an impressive wizard. Knowing that hundreds - if not thousands - of other witches across the world were collectively thinking about the same wizard at the same time was a comfort to Hermione.

Finally, it was the night before the start of term. She had packed and repacked her trunk hundreds of times. Unfortunately, Hermione had to leave her favourite book, _Hogwarts, A History_ , at home - it wouldn’t fit in her trunk with all of the Lockhart books. She was able to justify it in her head, though, realizing she’d be able to make so many notes in the Lockhart books’ margins as the school year progressed.

“I mean, how many times will you get the chance to learn from the source?” Hermione said at dinner. Mary and Bert were used to her Gilderoy Lockhart rants by this time. They also knew every single word to the _Les Miserables_ record and Finnegan’s exact route around the town.

At their last dinner together, Mary pulled out all of the stops with a huge feast full of Hermione’s favourite foods. “We are going to miss you so much, honey,” said Mary.

“I’m going to miss you too, Mum,” said Hermione as she helped herself to another dinner roll. “I promise I will write every week at the very least.”

“Good. We always love getting your letters,” said Mary. She looked awkwardly over at Bert, who, in turn, took a deep breath.

Hermione noticed the shift at once. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Hermione, we need to ask you a question and reckon you may not want to answer it,” Bert said.

Hermione’s heart started to beat out of her chest. What could they possibly want to ask her? Did she do something wrong? Did something happen that she couldn’t go to Hogwarts? “What do you mean? What’s wrong? What happened?” the words spilled out of Hermione’s mouth like water from a tap.

Bert took a deep breath. “Both times we’ve been to Diagon Alley this summer, your mother and I have noticed a little… animosity against you because you’re a Muggle, and we’re… we’re just a bit concerned.”

“I’m not a Muggle,” Hermione said quickly. “I’m just Muggle-born.”

“Well, whatever it is, we’ve noticed it, love,” Mary said. “Both times at the bookshop. First, it was that clerk when you were coughing, and then it was your school friend’s dad the last time.”

“Draco Malfoy is NOT my friend,” Hermione spat.

“It doesn’t matter if he is your friend or not,” Bert. “What matters is that you are being singled out.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Dad,” Hermione said. “People like the Malfoys are just jerks. What they think doesn’t matter.” 

“But it doesn’t seem to be an isolated incident,” Mary said stiffly.

Hermione could feel her anxiety bubbling to the surface. She really had hoped her parents wouldn’t have noticed the clerk’s disdain. It was one thing for Hermione to notice it but to have her parents notice it seemed to make it even worse. Hermione took a deep breath.

“Draco and his father are both Slytherin and, also, the Malfoys are one of the oldest Wizarding Families in the United Kingdom. They’re extremely uptight and think they’re better than everyone, especially people with Muggle parents. They don’t represent most people’s views. Actually, a lot of Wizarding families don’t care.” Hermione had to take a breath - she was rattling so fast she had forgotten to breathe. 

In the pause, Mary and Bert looked at each other worriedly. “Still, it’s not very comforting to know there could be people who don’t like you just because you’re our daughter,” Bert said. “It just makes us even more worried to send you away to an environment like that for months until the Christmas holidays.”

Hermione’s throat tightened with anxiety. “People don’t like other people for all kinds of stupid reasons everywhere, not just in the Wizarding World,” Hermione replied. “Besides, it doesn’t happen often at all. Honestly, it was just bad luck that you happened to be there. Those were the only times I’ve ever been made to feel uncomfortable for being a Muggle.” Hermione looked at her parents, who still had skeptical looks on their faces. “I promise I’m telling the truth!” she pleaded. Her eyes were filling with tears. If her parents wouldn’t allow her to go back to Hogwarts, she didn’t know what she’d do. Convincing them to let her go back to Hogwarts warranted her little white lie. “Please. It’ll be fine. I’ll be with Harry and Ron and Ginny. In fact, all of the Gryffindors are fine. It’s just Draco and a few other Slytherins.”

After an eternal pause, Bert and Mary both sighed at the same time. “Ok, as long as you’re careful,” Mary said. Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “And stay away from that Draco boy. I just don’t like him.”

“I don’t like him either,” Hermione said with a small smile. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her thundering heart. Hermione, however, wasn’t successful at quieting the pounding anxiety. Even as she laid down on her pillow for the last time before going away to school, Hermione’s heart was seemingly running a marathon. Hearing her parents acknowledge what Hermione had been trying to ignore all summer made the fear of being different all the more real. Not even thoughts of Gilderoy Lockhart could calm her this time. The only things that finally calmed her nerves enough to go to sleep were the accomplishments and transgressions of Emeric the Evil, and, even then, her sleep was a restless one.

\-----

Platform 9 ¾ was a bustle of excitement the following morning. Hermione and her parents arrived in London exceptionally early in the morning (she had insisted they leave an extra two hours early just in case the recently fixed station wagon didn’t make the whole trip), and had a quaint breakfast in a small pub down the road from Kings Cross Station. 

The massive golden facade of Kings Cross Station towered over the car park with its grand arched windows glittering in the early morning sun. Hermione tried to lift her trunk out of the station wagon and nearly fell backward when she lost her grip. There was not an inch of space left in the trunk. Anything Hermione could remotely need for school was meticulously packed away, making the trunk too heavy for anyone in the Granger Family to lift themselves.

There was a lot of time to spare since they had arrived so early, so Hermione, Bert, and Mary took a leisurely walk to the main concourse to get a trolly for her trunk. Even if Kings Cross Station didn’t have the magical barrier to the Hogwarts Express, the building itself would still be magical. The towering glass ceilings and the decorative brick structures held a charm all their own. 

After retrieving Hermione’s trunk (it took the three of them to pull it out of the boot), they walked together back through the station. As they neared the section between Platforms Nine and Ten, Hermione pointed to a dark wooden bench situated out of the flow of pedestrian traffic.

“That’s where we sat this time last year!” she exclaimed. The Grangers hadn’t known the “secret” way to get to Platform 9 ¾. After trying unsuccessfully to figure out how to breach the barrier, the Grangers admitted defeat and sat on that very bench until Hermione spotted her friend, Neville, and his grandmother and realized he was a fellow Hogwarts student. 

This year, a small boy with mousy brown hair sat with, presumably, his parents and little brother. He looked positively terrified as he absentmindedly fidgeted with a camera almost as large as his head... but not as terrified as his parents looked. On the other hand, his little brother was having a field day watching all of the people walk past. Hermione could definitely pick out some witches and wizards in the crowds just by the way they dressed, and every time one of them walked past, the little brother would stare and smile. 

Hermione suspected the boy was a first-year student at Hogwarts but, because of the Statute of Secrecy, she couldn’t outright ask him. She shared her thought process with her parents. “See that boy over there? I think he’s a student. Look how scared he is,” she said, pointing him out with his eyes. “And he keeps looking at the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten.”

“Awww,” said Mary, putting her hand on her chest. “We should go and help them!”

“We can’t,” Hermione said. “The Statute of Secrecy. I don’t know what to do, though. I want to help them.”

“Well, why don’t we just start talking about your school and see if they hear us,” Bert said simply. “I mean, that’s what happened to us last year with your friend Neville and his grandmother. He didn’t get into any trouble, did he?”

“You’re right,” Hermione said. She smiled at the memory. Last year, at this time, she and her parents watched with awe as Neville, and his grandmother walked straight through the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten to gain entrance to the magical Platform 9 ¾. 

Hermione inched a bit closer to the family to make sure they’d be able to overhear her. “Yes, of course, mum,” she said in a louder and more articulate voice than normally would be necessary. “I promise to send an owl at least once a week.” Hermione stole a glance at the little boy. He was staring straight at her. She continued. “And if you don’t want to send me a letter back by owl, I can ask the professors if there is a postal address for Hogwarts.” Hermione made to say “Hogwarts” as loudly as she dared. 

“That’s great, love,” Bert said, unnaturally loud and slow. “Thank you for checking into that for us. We sure will miss you while you are away at Hogwarts. Right. What do you think, should we venture to Platform 9 ¾ so you can catch the Hogwarts Express to Hogwarts?”

The little boy was at the edge of his seat, watching every move the Grangers made. Hermione dramatically shook her head. “Yes, let’s go to Platform 9 ¾. We can just wait there for the 11 o’clock train. Remember, when we go through the barrier, we have to be confident. Sometimes it helps to close your eyes. Mum, do you want to go first, and then I can come back for Dad and the trolly?”

“Sure,” Mary said, shaking her head up and down enthusiastically. Hermione took her mother’s hand and, with a quick glance over to the little boy, they walked straight towards the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten. As they were a few steps from the wall, Hermione couldn’t help but shut her eyes - even a year of magical education couldn’t prepare Hermione to half-walk, half-run at full speed into a brick wall. 

The feeling of passing through a solid brick wall was extremely peculiar. Hermione could feel every single hair on her arm stand at attention, and a slight chill envelop her lungs, which made her slightly gasp. There was a feeling similar to diving into a pool with the water rushing all around, filling her ears with a temporary roaring echo of sound. Then, as quickly as it had started, the feeling ceased, and Hermione found herself on the other side of the wall on Platform 9 ¾.

The platform wasn’t nearly as crowded as the Muggle platforms they had just left behind, probably because the Hogwarts Express didn’t depart Kings Cross Station until 11 o’clock, and it was only a half-past eight. The gleaming red engine of the Hogwarts Express towered over Hermione and Mary. Even though Hermione had already been on the massive train four times, it still caught her breath in her throat. It was a stunning array of machinery and innovation.

“Do you think they noticed us?” Hermione asked Mary.

“We couldn’t have been any more obvious,” Mary said with a chuckle. “It was like a bad theatrical performance.” 

“Good,” said Hermione firmly. “I know how scary it was my first year. They really need to be better about telling first-year Muggles how to get to Platform 9 ¾.”

“That’s for sure!” Mary agreed. “Not sure how they seem to constantly miss that little fact in the instructions.” 

“It’s kind of an important addition,” Hermione said. “Ok, I’m going to go get dad, and maybe they will follow me back. I hope so.”

Hermione squeezed her mother’s hand, took a few steps backward, and then started jogging back toward the brick wall barrier with her eyes closed. The same bizarre feeling rushed over her as she landed back on the Muggle platform. She opened her eyes and immediately spotted her father. However, Bert was now standing right next to the confused family who had been watching her.

The small boy and his brother both were looking at Hermione like she had three heads. She was quite certain they both had noticed her coming through the barrier. Her anxiety started bubbling to the surface - what if he _wasn’t_ going to Hogwarts, and they just saw her come through the magical barrier? She’d be expelled for this for sure!

“Hermione!” Bert called over to her. “Come over here and meet the Creevey’s. This is Susan and John, and their sons Colin and Dennis. Colin is starting his first year at Hogwarts this year!”

Hermione sighed in relief. “So nice to meet you,” she said with a smile. She held out her hand to Colin. “Congratulations on getting accepted to Hogwarts! I’m going into my second year and positively can’t wait.”

“Your last name isn’t Granger, is it?” Colin asked in a squeaky little voice as he shook her hand.

Hermione was taken back with surprise. “It is! How did you know?”

“So that means you’re friends with Harry Potter!” Colin exclaimed. Before Hermione knew what was happening, she was blinded by the flash of his camera. “Professor Flitwick told me all about Harry Potter and how you helped him save everyone at the end of the year,” he said excitedly. “He said you were the smartest one in your year, and Harry Potter was lucky to have you as a friend.”

Hermione blushed bright red. Professor Flitwick was one of her favourite teachers at Hogwarts, and to hear him give her such a compliment was beyond flattering. “I am quite smart,” Hermione confirmed. “But thank you so much for the compliment. I guess Professor Flitwick was your Special Messenger from Hogwarts?” Professor McGonagall had been Hermione’s Special Messenger.

“That’s right!” Colin said. 

“He’s a great professor. Charms is one of my favourite classes.”

“We should probably go and join your mother, Hermione,” Bert interrupted.

“Right,” Hermione said. “Are you all ready to go through? There’s nothing to it. You just have to walk through and have confidence you won’t just hit the wall.”

“How on earth can ya be confident of that when you’re runnin’ at the thing?” asked Mr. Creevery in a gruff voice. 

“Closing your eyes helps,” Bert said with a hint of a smile.

With one more nod to the Creevery’s, Hermione and Bert each grabbed the trolley’s handle and took off for the wall at full speed. A second later, they found themselves on Platform 9 ¾ headed towards where Mary was waiting for them.

“Took you two long enough,” she said. 

“We were chatting with that family,” said Hermione. “The Creeverys. They should be coming through soon.”

Hermione’s prediction came to fruition just a few moments later. Hermione found it interesting to watch Colin’s face as he saw the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She could only assume the awe and wonder plastered all over his face had mirrored that of her own last year.

The Grangers and Creeverys chatted a bit more, but Colin was more interested in walking around Platform 9 ¾ taking photos. However, he had Hermione promise to introduce him to Harry Potter as soon as Harry arrived. 

As the minutes (and then the hours) started to tick away, Hermione got more and more anxious: Harry and the Weasleys hadn’t arrived yet. Ginny had mentioned in her last letter that the Weasleys’ plan was to wake up early and fly the Ford Anglia to Kings Cross by ten o’clock at the very latest. Hermione glanced at the clock. It was already half-past ten, and there was no sign of the Weasleys or Harry. Neville, Parvati, and all of Hermione’s other classmates had already arrived and stopped to say hello. 

With only twenty minutes until 11 o’clock, Mary put her hand on Hermione’s shoulder and said, “We should probably get your trunk on the train. Maybe they’re getting to Hogwarts another way?”

“There is no real other way,” Hermione said, deflated, and pushed the trolly behind her parents to the luggage car. The porter had no trouble lifting Hermione’s heavy trunk with a flick of his wand, and, in no time at all, Hermione and her parents were right back where they started under the clock with not a Weasley or Potter in sight.

The minute hand got closer and closer to the eleventh hour. Hermione could feel her anxiety overflowing. “Did I ever tell you that, according to _Hogwarts, A History_ , The Hogwarts boats are enchanted to sail themselves? They are actually bewitched to only allow first-year students on them at the beginning of the year and seventh-year students on them at the end of the year. That way, they can be sure not to be hijacked by a random student at any other time and used for mischief.”

Bert and Mary knew that once Hermione started to quote facts from _Hogwarts, A History_ , Hermione must be extremely nervous or anxious. “Love, I’m sure they just got held up,” Mary said. “I’m sure there are other ways to Hogwarts that are better known to Wizarding families.”

“Maybe,” Hermione sighed.

“Wasn’t that Neville we saw just a half-hour ago?” Bert asked. “You can sit with him on the way.”

A flash of flaming red caught Hermione’s eye before she could respond. It was Percy Weasley! Mr. Weasley and the twins quickly followed him. A few seconds later came Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, looking as harried as ever. 

True to their characters, Percy made a beeline directly to the train with only a half look over his shoulder to his parents. “Must be getting to the Prefect’s car. I’ll write soon!” he called before jumping in.

George and Fred were leisurely pushing their shared cart until Mrs. Weasley caught up with them. “Hurry along, you two! Ginny will NOT be missing her first ride on the Hogwarts Express.” Ginny looked terrified but set her jaw and started pushing her trolley towards the towering train.

“Bert! Mary!” Mr. Weasley called as soon as he spotted them. “So great to see you again! I see you’re running a bit late too? Muggle busses not running on time?”

“Erm, we’ve been here for a bit,” said Bert, trying to be polite.

“Right, right. Would have been here sooner, but Ginny forgot something, and the boys, of course, were taking their time.”

“Hi, Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you made it. Where are Ron and Harry?”

Ginny looked over her shoulder towards the barrier she had just magically emerged. “They were right behind mum and me,” she said, squinting into the crowd. “They should be coming through any second.”

“All Aboard!” came a magically enhanced yell from the conductor that rattled the ears of everyone on the platform. What resulted was absolute pandemonium. Every witch, wizard, and muggle flew into a panic to get to the train. Ginny and Hermione were pushed from behind by Mrs. Weasley. Hermione grabbed on to her mum’s hand and dragged them with them. As they neared the train, Hermione dug in her heels and stopped cold. The rest of the crowd went around them.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Hermione said with a smile she hoped wasn’t too broad. Of course, she was so excited to go back to Hogwarts but didn’t want her parents to think she was happy to say goodbye.

“Write loads, and we’ll see you at Christmastime, yeah?” Bert asked.

“I think so,” Hermione said. Last year, she had come home for the Christmas holiday and was absolutely miserable. “It all depends on classes and whatnot, I suppose.”

“Quite right,” Bert said. His stiff upper lip was coming out. He didn’t want to get weepy, especially when Mary already looked misty-eyed.

“Study hard, and I can’t wait to get your first letter!” Mary said with a slight hitch to her voice. Hermione gave them both a tight hug and then jumped up on the step. She scanned the dwindling crowd and spotted the Weasley’s red hair a few meters to her left. She pointed them out to her parents (so they would have magical someone to get back through the barrier with) and then waved to Ginny so she’d know where she was. She couldn’t, however, see Ron and Harry but was sure they were out there somewhere.

Hermione’s parents walked towards the Weasleys as Ginny walked towards Hermione. She jumped up on the step with Hermione and, together, they walked into the Hogwarts Express.

The cars were packed with students. Hermione and Ginny fought their way towards the front of the train. “No one seems to want to be in the cars closest to the prefects’ car, so we’ll probably be able to find some room there,” Hermione explained as they fought their way through the sea of students. “We can claim a compartment and then come back to look for your brother and Harry.”

“Do we have to?” Ginny asked. “Ron’s annoying, and Harry makes me nervous.”

Hermione tried to hide her frown. She, of course, understood Ginny wouldn’t want to hang out with her brother and her crush, but she had hoped it would magically be the four of them all year. It wasn’t starting out so well for her plan. She tried not to let it bother her too much.

Finally, at the front of the train, they found a compartment that was empty except for one very special boy. “Neville!” Hermione exclaimed, running at him to give him a second hug (they had already hugged once on the platform). “Mind if we sit here?”

“Of course not,” Neville said, his pale skin blushing a soft pink colour.

“Brilliant,” Hermione said and took a seat. She patted the cushion next to her for Ginny to sit down. “Neville, this is Ron’s sister, Ginny. She’s a first-year.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ginny said, sticking out her hand to Neville.

“Same!” Neville said shakily.

“How’s Trevor?” Hermione asked. Trevor was Neville’s pet toad that had a petulance for escaping.

“He’s great,” said Neville, holding up a small lidded fishbowl. “Gran got me this great little bowl for him to live in at a Muggle store. He hasn’t escaped since! I think he likes it in there.”

“He certainly looks like he does,” Hermione agreed. Ginny and Neville chatted for a few minutes about frivolous things until Hermione couldn’t take her anxiety any longer. “Ginny,” she said, interrupting Neville’s story about how the last straw was when his grandmother found Trevor in her bed one night. “Let’s go see if we can find Harry and Ron.”

Ginny begrudgingly followed Hermione out of the compartment, promising Neville they’d return soon. They walked all the way to the back of the train and back up to their compartment without any sighting of Ron or Harry. George, Fred, and Percy hadn’t seen the pair either.

As they returned to the compartment with Neville, Hermonie plopped down on the seat. She was angry. “Honestly, I can’t believe the nerve of those two! What, do they think they’re too good for school? Well, they may just find themselves out of luck if they get to Hogwarts late. Half of me wishes they don’t let them in. That’ll teach them,” Hermione spat.

The rest of the train ride was uneventful, with the exception of Hermione’s periodical outbursts of disapproval at her best friends’ absence. Ginny and Neville seemed to share a common nostalgia over Wizarding fairy tales from their youth, which made Hermione smile (and vow to look into the stories when she got to Hogwarts). There was an hour-long discussion on Gilderoy Lockhart as well; Neville wasn’t as big of a fan as Hermione and Ginny were, but his grandmother had all of the books, and he had read a bit. Soon, the prefects (including Percy) announced it was time to put their robes on - they were almost there. 

Hermione helped Ginny tie her generic Hogwarts tie. “I am quite certain, by the end of the night, this tie will be maroon and gold,” Hermione said with a smile. She knew how nervous Ginny was about the sorting ceremony. She begged Hermione and Neville to tell her what it would entail - her brothers, on the other hand, had tried to convince her it was a large test of skills to see what Hogwarts house she was sorted in.

“So, you’re telling me all I have to do is sit on a stool and wear a bloody hat?” Ginny asked incredulously. 

“Yep, that’s it!” Neville said. “Mind you, it's not to say it isn’t nerve-wracking to sit up there in front of the whole school. You know, everyone staring at you and all that.”

Ginny’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, though Hermione saw her eyes steel. She knew Ginny wasn’t the type to let most things scare her. She was a true Gryffindor at heart - brave, loyal, and fierce.

The rush to get off the Hogwarts Express as it pulled into Hogsmeade Station was almost as insane as the rush to get on it back at Kings Cross. Hundreds of students in a sea of black robes streamed out of the doors to the platform. Hermione’s ears perked up at a familiar voice.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! C’mon, follow me! Firs’ years follow me!”

Hagrid towered over the students with a bright yellow lantern. Ginny looked back at Hermione with a slightly nervous grin before joining the other first-years in the push to Hagrid. There was a sudden bright white flash, temporarily pausing the bustling activity. Thinking someone had done magic (and, perhaps, that the “someone” would be Harry or Ron), Hermione scanned the crowd. However, the flash came from none other than Colin Creevery’s camera. It flashed again as he took a second picture of Hagrid.

“Oy!” Hagrid shouted. “Cut it out!”

Hermione chuckled as she and Neville followed the rest of the Hogwarts students out of Hogsmeade Station. She wasn’t sure where, exactly, they were going as they had followed Hagrid to the boats during their first years. They walked along the path a few minutes and then came to a sudden stop. There, before them, were dozens of carriages, black in colour with golden headlamps attached to the front. Each student mounted one of the horseless carriages, and they made their way towards the enormous castle.

Hermione’s hair on her arms was standing on end, though she wasn’t cold in the least. Seeing the enormous castle emerge in the distance was an emotional sight to be had. Her fellow students seemed to be captivated by it as well - most conversations hushed as the castle grew before them.

Hermione jumped down from the carriage as soon as it stopped on the Hogwarts grounds. She barely waited for Neville to jump down behind her before running to the front of the mass of students in front of them. She wanted to get into the castle as soon as she could. Her heart was aching to be inside - she was so close. All would be right in the world as soon as she was able to step foot within the hallowed halls of the ancient school.

The magnificent dark oak doors to the school swung open and welcomed the students to the great hall. Directly in front of them was the broad, marble grand staircase leading to the castle’s seven floors. To the left were the four giant hourglasses used to record the number of house points awarded or deducted for each of the four Hogwarts Houses by their house colours: maroon for Gryffindor, blue for Ravenclaw, yellow for Hufflepuff, and green for Slytherin. To the right were double doors leading into the Great Hall, the destination for the sorting ceremony and great feast.

Hermione, Neville, and the rest of the students turned right and were transported into one of the most magical rooms Hermione would ever enter in her life. The Great Hall was, indeed, great. Lit by thousands and thousands of candles floating in midair over four long tables, the room was breathtaking. However, the flickering amber lights didn’t impede the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the sky above the castle. 

The four tables, (from left to right) Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, extended along the room’s length. The staff table was at the front, where the entire Hogwarts staff sat. Hermione smiled from ear to ear as she picked out all of her favourite professors (and some she hadn’t had the pleasure of having in class yet). Gilderoy Lockhart sat tall and brave near the center, dressed in a stunning aquamarine robe. His mere presence made Hermione’s breath catch in her throat. He seemed so regal, even compared to the man at the center on the throne-like chair: Albus Dumbledore, one of the most impressive wizards of all time and the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Curiously, her least favourite professor, Severus Snape, was absent from the staff table. He was their potions teacher and also the head of house for Slytherin. It was no question he preferred Slytherin students to all other students. However, he harbored an even deeper content for Harry Potter and, by proxy, Hermione herself. 

Hermione forced herself to tear her eyes away from Professor Lockhart and the staff table to take in the rest of the room. There were small windows around the side of the hall and a large window behind the staff table. Illuminated by the window’s light, a podium carved with an owl stood right in front of the Headteacher's chair and was where they made their announcements.

The students filed into their house tables. Hermione found a spot toward the front of the Gryffindor table with Neville. Parvati, Lavender, and a few other girls were within talking distance as well. The murmur of all of the witches and wizards of Hogwarts manifested into an electric hum Hermione could feel in her bones. She was home.

There seemed to be an interruption of the students streaming into the Great Hall - it was only about half full when the steady stream slowed to a trickle. Hermione barely noticed it as she chatted with Parvati and caught up on what had happened since their last letter exchange. However, as the rest of the students finally made their way into the Great Hall, a few choice words and snippets of conversations caught Hermione’s attention.

“...flying car!”

“...muggle Ford!”

...over the Hogwarts Express.”

“...flew right into Whomping Willow!”

Hermione’s stomach lurched. A flying Muggle car? The only family who she knew to have a flying Muggle car was the Weasleys… and Harry and Ron would be the only ones stupid enough to fly it to Hogwarts. She frantically scanned the Gryffindor table. Neither Ron nor Harry were there. Hermione shook her head. The boys were reckless but, surely, couldn’t be that stupid.

Before she could dwell any more on it, a hush rippled over the students. Albus Dumbledore had taken his place at the gold podium carved with an owl between the staff and student tables. His mere presence demanded a quiet respect, and the students complied.

Dumbledore smiled at the sea of black pointy hats spread before him. “I present to you this year’s first-year students,” he said simply before sitting back down. The double doors opened again. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizard’s hat. The hat was battered and old; it's patched, frayed, and filthy. In order to speak and sing, a tear along the brim opened like a mouth. 

Behind Professor McGonagall and the Sorting Hat, Hermione spotted Colin Creevery towards the front of the line and Ginny towards the back. Even though one came from a Muggle family and the other came from a Wizarding family, they both had the exact same astonished looks on their faces as they took in in the grandness of the Great Hall.

The students’ hush seemed to intensify, if that was even possible, as all eyes snapped back to the Sorting Hat Professor McGonagall had placed in front of the owl podium and was slowly coming to life.

_Ladies and gentlemen,_

_You know I am nothing but genuine._

_Some of my sorting suggestions_

_May have raised some questions._

_But my legitimacy_

_Has always been seen_

_As nothing less_

_than an inherent guarantee._

_See, being the sorter for the school,_

_And judging the first-year student pool,_

_I revel in the chance for a clean slate_

_For all students when sitting on this stool._

_For it is the student, not the parent_

_Who is judged with a transparent_

_Set of very specific characteristics_

_The founders made remarkably apparent:_

_Gryffindors are brave at heart,_

_While Ravenclaw often outsmarts._

_Hufflepuff students are always just_

_And Slytherins are slow to trust_

_(But loyal to a fault)._

_But danger lurks around the corner_

_For all of these first-year learners._

_In truth, all of the students at Hogwarts fair_

_Are in danger from the mysterious heir._

_The ones they call mud attract the monster_

_And our saviour will be first labeled the Imposter._

_Only close your eyes to the untruths, nothing more_

_And fight so our Hogwarts can truly prosper._

_So go ahead,_

_put me on your head_

_It doesn’t matter who your parents are_

_but who you and what you fight for instead._

The Great Hall erupted in applause. Hermione felt as though the Sorting Hat was talking directly to her. She could feel someone’s eyes on her - from across the room, Draco Malfoy was scowling at her. Perhaps he had heard something that struck a chord in the Sorting Hat’s song as well. 

The sorting ceremony started. Each first-year made their way up to the stool alphabetically as Professor McGonagall read their name. They looked so small - Hermione couldn’t believe she had been that young only last year.

“Creevery, Colin,” Professor McGonagall called out, and Hermione’s eyes snapped up to the front. Colin was holding his camera like a soft toy. He looked so little and scared. She watched as Professor McGonagall lowered the frayed hat over his mousy hair. She could still hear the ringing sound of the Sorting Hat’s voice inside her head and imagined Colin was hearing the same (the Sorting Hat communicated through Legilimency, a sort of mind-reading, with the wearer, listening to their thoughts and responding in kind). 

After a few moments, the hat’s brim opened wide to say in a loud, powerful voice, “Gryffindor!” Colin popped up in surprise and nearly forgot to take the hat off. He ran over to join his fellow Gryffindors at the table. Hermione gave him a huge smile of welcome. 

The line of students continued, the sorting hat shouting out one of the four houses’ names for each student. Hermione continued to study the first-years (since she really didn’t have anything invested until the end of the line where Ginny Weasley stood). She noticed, toward the middle of the line, a hole in the line where a student should have been. A rather short girl with straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair who was supposed to be in that spot was, instead, wandering over to the large picture windows. She moved slowly and deliberately, seemingly in awe of something unseen. Her arms were extended to reach out for something that Hermione couldn’t see. Her dreamlike movements had caught the eye of a few other students and teachers as well. 

A movement toward the front of the Great Hall at the staff table caught Hermione’s eye. Professor Flitwick had jumped down off of his seat and approached the wandering student. He led her back to the line gently to the tune of some snickers from the students. 

Hermione made sure to pay attention when the wandering student was close to the front of the line. “Lovegood, Luna,” was the name Professor McGonagall announced as the girl took her seat on the stool. Instead of immediately putting the hat on, she studied it carefully and seemed to pet it’s brim. Hermione thought she saw the hat bristol at the touch. Finally, Luna placed the hat upon her head. 

Hermione half expected the hat to shout out Hufflepuff without even so much as a pause. However, the hat stayed silent for quite a few moments before finally opening its brim mouth wide and shouting, “Ravenclaw!” Hermione had to admit to herself she was quite surprised at the designation, but soon forgot about it as the line dwindled.

Finally, it was Ginny’s turn. Hermione was on the edge of the bench. She seemed more nervous than Ginny, who stalked over to the stool and sat down with conviction. She looked so cool up there, Hermione thought to herself. Within seconds of putting the hat on her head, “Gryffindor” was heard echoing throughout the Great Hall. Hermione joined her fellow lions in a loud cheer and slid down so Ginny could sit next to her as the newest Gryffindor.

“Congratulations, Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed as she hugged her friend.

“Surprised you weren’t in Slytherin, honestly,” said Fred with a wink. 

“But welcome to the good house,” finished George.

“The best house,” their friend, Lee Jordan, chimed in.

Ginny grinned her thanks as the last few students took their turns getting sorted. As Ginny introduced herself to the people sitting around them, Hermione could have sworn she saw Harry and Ron peaking through the large double doors. “Finally,” she thought to herself. Her thoughts, however, were interrupted by a hush drifting over the room: Professor Dumbledore took his place at the podium once again. 

He opened his arms wide in welcome. “Good evening, students! What a wonderful start to a new year at Hogwarts! As always, before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Dadai! Mimbles! Slughug! Whiz! Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Suddenly, the long tables were filled with a feast to end all feasts. Plates and platters materialized, overflowing with every food imaginable: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, bacon, steak, joints, steak and kidney pie, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, mashed potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and peppermint humbugs. For dessert, there are blocks of assorted ice cream, apple pies, spotted dick, chocolate gateau, treacle tart, pumpkin tart, chocolate éclairs & jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, and rice pudding.

Almost everyone was so busy eating their fill that no one noticed Professor Snape stalking to the staff table and Professor McGonagall following him back out of the Great Hall at a breakneck pace. Hermione was too busy chatting with Ginny, Neville, and Parvati. Her heart (and stomach) were warm and full.

The rumours of the flying car started right back up again as the excitement of the feast wore off. The rest of the Gryffindors had noticed Harry and Ron’s absence, so, of course, they immediately insisted it was them who had done it. Again, Hermione couldn’t believe they would have been that reckless and, therefore, tried to ignore the rumours the best she could. 

When everyone was full and sleepy, it was finally time to head to the dormitories. Hermione followed the rest of the Gryffindors up to their tower led by Percy. Admittance to the tower was regulated by a portrait students lovingly referred to as “The Fat Lady.” She required a password for all to enter. 

“This year’s first password is ‘Wattlebird,’” Percy said shortly to the large group. “The password _will_ change throughout the year, so make sure to take note. You _will_ be stuck outside if you do not know the new password.”

Hermione glanced over at Neville, who always had a problem remembering the password, and gave him a reassuring smile. Last year, she had given him a journal to keep the passwords. He was furiously scribbling the password on an empty page. 

The portrait door swung open, and the Gryffindor students shuffled in. Hermione, however, decided to stay back. She _knew_ she had seen Ron and Harry looking in through the Great Hall doors and knew she just _had_ to wait for them. She had to know, first hand and before everyone else, what, exactly, they were up to and why they hadn’t gone to the feast. It just couldn’t be because of the flying car. That would just be absurd. 

However, Hermione started to get a bit angry there in the silent corridor outside of the dormitory. The three friends had made plans to ride the Hogwarts Express and enjoy the feast together. She had been looking forward to this day for all of the summer holidays, and Harry and Ron had ruined it all. Hermione wanted to be surrounded by the familiar tapestries and decor of the dormitory instead of the drafty corridor.

Only a few minutes had passed since the last student had climbed through the portrait hole when she heard the unmistakable voice of Harry Potter coming up the staircase. Her anger had grown exponentially at this point, and she was close to fuming. She watched as the boys approached the Fat Lady.

“Password?” asked the Fat Lady. Hermione smirked at their growing distress at not knowing the password.

“Er —” said Harry. 

Hermione couldn’t help but stifle an irked giggle. Served them right to feel a bit out of sorts for making her feel the same all day. She gave them a few more moments to squirm before her anger and annoyance took over. 

Hermione rushed over to them. “There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors — someone said you’d been expelled for crashing a flying car —”

“Well, we haven’t been expelled,” Harry assured her. For some reason, his tone made her even more cross.

“You’re not telling me you did fly here?” said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

“Skip the lecture,” said Ron impatiently, “and tell us the new password.”

“It’s ‘wattlebird,’ ” said Hermione impatiently, “but that’s not the point —”

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open. There was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione to scramble in after them. She could barely believe her eyes. 

“Brilliant!” yelled Lee Jordan. “Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people’ll be talking about that one for years —”

“Good for you,” said a fifth year. Cheers of agreement rose from the crowd.

Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, “Why couldn’t we’ve come in the car, eh?” Hermione saw Ron’s embarrassed grin, and her anger skyrocketed. It was true! The smile on Ron’s face proved it. They _had_ flown Weasley’s car into the Whomping Willow!

Hermione was just about to scream in anger when she noticed Percy getting ready to do the same thing from across the room. Harry must have seen him as well as he nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy’s direction. Ron’s face fell immediately (which gave Hermione a small bit of satisfaction). 

“Got to get upstairs — bit tired,” Ron said, and the two of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories. She wished, right then and there, that she had read up on more jinxes and hexes over the summer.


	6. Gilderoy Lockhart

Hermione’s first night back in Hogwarts Castle, surrounded by her roommates and the rich maroon decor of her room, calmed Hermione overnight. Her annoyance, however, peaked again when Ron and Harry casually sat down at the table next to her during breakfast the following day.

Surrounded by tureens of porridge, plates of Kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon under the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy grey), Hermione was calmly re-reading her copy of  _ Voyages with Vampires.  _ Her calm was interrupted when Harry and Ron plopped down as if absolutely nothing had transpired the night before. Hermione had to clamp her jaw shut initially, for fear of what she would say.

Still, Hermione thought of herself as the bigger person, and stiffly wished them a good morning. She would not allow their smugness to get in the way of the excitement of the first day of classes. Neville, who had also been sitting with Hermione, was not as reserved in his welcome. She half-listened to the three of them catching up while reading the passage about the Vampire who, after a particularly intense encounter with Lockhart, could only eat lettuce instead of blood.

“Mail’s due any minute — I think Gran’s sending a few things I forgot,” Neville was saying, just as a rumbling, whooshing sound filled the Great Hall.

A hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville’s head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione’s jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

“Errol!” said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet as Hermione blotted porridge off her jumper. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak. 

“Oh, no —” Ron gasped. His voice was so pained that it caused Hermione to stop blotting her jumper to check on the poor owl. She had no idea Ron cared so deeply for the pet.

“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” said Hermione softly, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

“It’s not that — it’s that.”

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Hermione, but Ron and Neville looked at it as though they expected it to explode.

“What’s the matter?” said Harry.

“She’s — she’s sent me a Howler,” said Ron faintly. Hermione had no idea what a Howler was. However, she could logically deduce it was not a good thing. 

“You’d better open it, Ron,” said Neville in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and“ — he gulped — “it was horrible.”

“What’s a Howler?” Harry said, reading Hermione’s mind.

But Ron didn’t answer. All of his attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.

“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes —”

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol’s beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Hermione knew why. He thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the vast hall, shaking the dust from the ceiling.

“— STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE —”

Mrs. Weasley’s yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

“— LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED, BUT I BET YOU DIDN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT, DID YOU? YOU THINK ABOUT NO ONE BUT YOURSELF, RONALD. WE ARE ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over him. To be honest, Hermione felt the same way. A few people laughed, and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione gathered her thoughts for a moment and closed  _ Voyages with Vampires _ . She looked Ron directly in the eye.

“Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you —”

“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snapped Ron.

That was precisely what Hermione was going to tell him, but she saw in an instant how completely and utterly defeated Ron was in that moment. She didn’t think it necessary to add to it, quite frankly. The Howler had said everything that needed to be said. In fact, Hermione almost pitied Ron. Almost.

Instead, Hermione kept her mouth shut and watched as Professor McGonagall moved along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules. She couldn’t wait to see what this year’s timetable would be. As soon as Professor McGonagall handed Hermione the parchment, she noticed they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first thing that morning, followed by Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, and then Defence Against the Dark Arts with none other than Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. Hermione knew it was going to be a great day. She absentmindedly drew little hearts around Lockhart’s names while Ron and Harry finished their breakfast.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses (where the magical plants were kept). Hermione was in a great mood - the Howler had knocked Ron and Harry back to earth from their escapades,  _ and _ they were on their way to their first class. Life couldn’t get any better.

The whole way to the greenhouses, Hermione filled the boys in on what they missed on the train ride to Hogwarts and the sorting ceremony. Chattering away to her friends under the sunny skies of Scotland, Hermione felt a certain peace wash over her that she hadn’t felt all summer. 

As they neared the greenhouses, they saw the rest of the class standing outside waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She barely noticed at first, but Professor Sprout’s arms were full of bandages. Hermione tried to figure out why. A brief look to the west towards Whomping Willow in the distance unfortunately confirmed the reason: several of the tree’s branches were in slings. She had been tending to the Whomping Willow which, most assuredly, been damaged by Ron and Harry’s adventures.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and fingernails. Usually, she didn’t look as disheveled, but standing next to the impeccable Gilderoy Lockhart made it even more apparent. 

Gilderoy Lockhart towered over the witch in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming. He flashed the same smile Finnegan would as he would approach the Grangers’ cottage.

“Oh, hello there!” he called, beaming around at the assembled students. Hermione’s heart melted. “Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels--”

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled and not at all her usual cheerful self. Hermione, however, didn’t immediately jump in line to head to greenhouse three (they had only ever worked in greenhouse one before — greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants). She was too busy staring at Gilderoy Lockhart. 

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door, which snapped Hermione out of her trance. She caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. She was intrigued, and her interest started to shift… that is until Professor Lockhart spoke again.

“Harry! I’ve been wanting a word — you don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?”

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, “That’s the ticket,” and closed the greenhouse door in her face. Hermione scowled as well - why couldn’t Lockhart want a word with her too?

She tried to pay attention to Professor Sprout’s introduction but found herself stealing looks through the greenhouse’s smudged glass at Lockhart and Harry. They seemed deep in conversation. Hermione longed to be a part of it but forced herself to pay attention. She may not be as brave as Harry was, but she certainly was smarter. Professor Lockhart would most certainly notice her for her smarts once he saw her in class.

Before Hermione realized what was going on, Professor Sprout had finished her introduction and was announcing the day’s lesson. She stood behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-coloured ear-muffs were lying on the bench. Even though Hermione had missed the beginning of the lesson with her daydreams, she realized at once what they were going to be learning about: Mandrakes. It had to be, what, with the ear-muffs on the bench. Harry snuck back into the greenhouse, and Hermione suppressed the urge to ask him what Lockhart had talked to him about.

“We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today,” Professor Sprout confirmed. “Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

Hermione’s hand was first into the air.

“Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” said Hermione, very glad she studied up on it during the summer after writing to Neville. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Sprout. Hermione beamed. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

Hermione’s hand shot up again.

“The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” she said promptly.

“Precisely. Take another ten points,” said Professor Sprout. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

The professor pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish-green in colour, were growing there in rows.

“Everyone, take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair.

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,” said Professor Sprout. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right — earmuffs on.”

Hermione snapped the ear-muffs over her ears. They shut out sound completely. She had read about the Mandrakes’ cry but knew it’d be a completely different experience to actually hear one. Her heart started pounding in anticipation, and she fiddled with the ear-muffs with nervous energy. She hoped they’d work. 

Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard. Hermione held her breath. Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs. Hermione could only hear the sound of her own heartbeat rumbling inside her ears.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs. Hermione excitedly did the same.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

“Four to a tray — there is a large supply of pots here — compost in the sacks over there — and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. Hermione looked around for Neville to join them, but he was standing too far away. Before he could make his way to their table, a curly-haired Hufflepuff stepped to their table. 

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. “Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. … And you’re Hermione Granger — always top in everything.” Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too. It was nice to be acknowledged. “— and Ron Weasley. Wasn’t that your flying car?”

Ron didn’t smile. The Howler was obviously still very much on his mind.

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” said Justin happily as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. Hermione shook her head enthusiastically. Ron and Harry didn’t share her thoughts when it came to Lockhart, and it was, quite frankly, refreshing to have a boy take her side. “Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and — zap — just fantastic.

“My name was down for Eton, you know,” Justin continued. Hermione looked up in surprise. Eton was a very prestigious school in the United Kingdom. “I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books, I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…”

After that, they didn’t have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on, and Hermione needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes to make sure she was doing everything perfectly. She, however, filed Justin’s idea away in the back of her mind. Maybe she should have her parents read Lockhart’s books. 

Professor Sprout had made it look effortless, but there were certainly a few tricks to repotting the magical plants. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Hermione had quite a time trying to get it into the small pot. Finally, she succeeded and gained a broad smile from Professor Sprout.

At the end of class, everyone was covered in dirt. The second-year students ran back to the castle to wash off before their next Transfiguration class with Professor McGonagall. Hermione stood in line before her roommates, Parvati, Lavender, Alice, and Fay, to wash up. They were all gushing about Gilderoy Lockhart. Her roommates somewhat intimidated her because, most of the time, she couldn’t understand how anyone would want to discuss such trivial things, even with Parvati’s “social lessons” last year. Lockhart, however, seemed like a perfect conversation to join in based on the subject matter!

“He’s just… perfect,” said Lavender with a giggle.

“And his eyes!” said Alice. “I could stare into them all day!”

“How about when he trapped a Ghoul with a tea strainer?” Hermione said, jumping giddily into the conversation. The rest of the girls stopped gushing and looked back at her with confusion. “You remember? It was in his book,  _ Gadding with Ghouls _ , chapter 7, I believe.” Still, the rest of the girls didn’t say anything. “Or how about when he saved the village from Werewolves with just his wand and a silver coin?” She was met with silence. “ _ Wanderings with Werewolves? _ Did you all not read his books yet?”

“Well, they only just assigned them, didn’t they,” Fay said with a hint of annoyance.

“A few weeks ago, yes,” Hermione said. “Plenty of time to read all of them at least once, don’t you think? I read them each three times, but I do read faster than most people.” Hermione caught Parvati giving her a look. “And his hair is always perfect too!” Hermione added quickly. The girls’ scowls vanished, and they started gossiping again.

There was so much more to Hermione’s crush, though she hated to call it that. Rationally, she knew that her connections to Finnegan and Marius over the lonely summer months fueled the fascination. Still, Hermione knew she understood Gilderoy Lockhart as a person, not just an extension of the people who helped her cope while away from school. She knew that Professor Lockhart would see that she was different from all of her classmates just with one conversation… and she was determined to have that conversation during their class that afternoon.

\-----

Hermione had never wished for a Transfiguration Class to be over in her life, but that first day, that’s all she wanted. She loved Professor McGonagall and always looked forward to any time she could learn from her, but the appeal of having a sit down with her hero made it slightly challenging to pay attention.

Professor McGonagall asked the class to transfigure a beetle into a button, which, under normal circumstances, would be a piece of cake to Hermione (she had read that chapter seven times over the summer). However, Hermione was trying to rehearse every possible conversation she and Lockhart could have during the Defence Against The Dark Arts class in a few hours. Because of that, she was only to transfigure ten beatles (only four more than the next best student). 

Her lack of concentration was masked by Ron’s total disaster of a lesson. He broke his wand during the car ride into the Whomping Willow (serves him right!), and he tried to repair it with Spellotape to no avail. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle, it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall was displeased.

During their lunch period, Hermione happily showed Harry and Ron the buttons she made, and her excitement only grew and grew. The minutes were quickly ticking by until their afternoon class. The boys’ bad moods couldn’t alter her good one, though it was touch and go for a bit.

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” said Harry.

Hermione couldn’t believe he didn’t know. “Defence Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione at once.

“Why,” demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?”

Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. She hadn’t meant for him to see that. 

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione pulled out her copy of  _ Voyages with Vampires _ again; she wanted to double-check a few things before class began. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes, making it even easier for Hermione to concentrate on the book.

None of them noticed the little mousey-haired boy shuffle up to them, utterly transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

“All right, Harry? I’m — I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. Hermione glanced up and smiled at Colin, but he didn’t blink in her direction - he was too enamored with Harry and Ron to look at her.

“I’m in Gryffindor, too,” Colin continued. “D’you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?” he said, raising the camera hopefully. Hermione scolded herself for forgetting to introduce Colin to Harry as she had promised, but with all of the craziness of the Whomping Willow, it was an easy transgression.

“A picture?” Harry repeated blankly.

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” Colin drew a great, shuddering breath of excitement and continued. “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you” — he looked imploringly at Harry and Ron — “maybe your friend could take it, and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?”

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy’s voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione snapped her book shut in disgust.

“Everyone, line up!” Malfoy roared to the crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not,” said Harry angrily. Hermione noticed his fists clenching. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You’re just jealous,” piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck. Hermione was impressed at his confidence but wished he hadn’t brought attention to himself. Malfoy was dangerous.

“Jealous?” said Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore: Half the courtyard was listening. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started menacingly rubbing his knuckles. 

“Be careful, Weasley,” sneered Malfoy. “You don’t want to start any trouble, or your mommy’ll have to come and take you away from school.” He put on a shrill, piercing voice. “ _ If you put another toe out of line — _ ”

A knot of Slytherin fifth years nearby laughed loudly at this. Hermione’s heart ached for Ron. 

“Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,” smirked Malfoy. “It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house —”

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand. Things were about to get very bad. Luckily, Hermione glanced to the left and saw someone to save them all. “Look out!” she whispered, and Ron thankfully put his wand back inside his robes.

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

Harry started to speak, but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.” 

Hermione grinned from ear to ear. Lockhart was so lovely and thoughtful! Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

“Off you go, move along there,” Lockhart called to the crowd, and Hermione was quick to comply. Lockhart and Harry took off towards the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. Hermione and Ron followed slightly behind. The whole way there, Hermione rehearsed what she’d say to Lockhart once they had a few minutes alone.

Once they reached the classroom, she sat next to Harry, thankfully, close to the front of the room. Parvati, Lavender, Fay, and Alice were all behind her. Hermione could feel the excitement buzzing within her. The time to learn from the bravest wizard had finally arrived. Ron, however, was still hung up on what had just happened in the courtyard.

“You could’ve fried an egg on your face,” said Ron. “You’d better hope Creevey doesn’t meet Ginny, or they’ll be starting a Harry Potter fan club.”

“Shut up,” snapped Harry. Hermione shushed both of them while she piled all of her Gilderoy Lockhart books in front of her. Hopefully, he’d see them and, maybe, notice her. That was the first part of her plan, anyway.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville’s copy of  _ Travels with Trolls _ , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. Hermione felt herself swoon. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!” Hermione stifled a laugh. Not only was he smart, brave, and handsome, he was also funny!

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in —” 

Hermione felt her heart explode! A test! This was perfect! 

When he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have thirty minutes — start — now!”

Hermione turned over her three sheets of parchment and read the first few questions:

  1. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite colour?_
  2. _What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_
  3. _What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?”_



There were 54 questions at first glance. Hermione got a bit anxious - did he want the sources for each question? She had no doubt she knew all the correct answers but was a bit fuzzy on exactly what pages the answers were found. Hermione made an executive decision that it’d be best to answer each question first and then go back to list the references if she had time. 

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. Hermione held her breath.

“Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in  _ Year with the Yeti _ .” Hermione shook her head in agreement and mentally added up her correct answers as he continued. “And a few of you need to read  _ Wanderings with Werewolves  _ more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

He gave them another roguish wink. “… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact” — he flipped her paper over — “full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione raised a trembling hand. She couldn’t believe it. He noticed her!

“Excellent!” beamed Lockhart. “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so — to business —”

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. Whatever was in the cage was of no significance to Hermione. She was on cloud nine.

“Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm. I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice. “It might provoke them.”

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

“Yes,” he said dramatically. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

Seamus Finnegan let out a snort of laughter. Hermione shot him a look, though frowned slightly. Cornish pixies wouldn’t have necessarily been on her top ten list of the foulest creatures known to wizardkind, but she trusted Lockhart’s expertise.

“Yes?” He smiled at Seamus, who was still chuckling.

“Well, they’re not — they’re not very — dangerous, are they?” Seamus choked.

“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Lockhart was entirely correct - the creatures were foul. Hermione shouldn’t have second-guessed his genius.

Two of the pixies seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Hermione gasped. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks, and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

“Come on now — round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted. Hermione grasped her wand, ready to go, but Lockhart beat her to it.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

Hermione tilted her head in confusion. That definitely wasn’t the spell she would have used. The spell Lockhart had used had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized the professor’s wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart dived under his desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way. Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. Why was he hiding behind the desk? Why wasn’t he using a different spell such as “Arresto Momentum?”

The bell rang, and there was a mad rush toward the exit. Hermione was too confused to do anything but follow the crowd to the door, but the three soon found themselves the last ones in the room. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, “Well, I’ll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him. 

Hermione’s confusion continued, but she felt slightly better that he trusted her to clean up the pixies. Maybe this was all one big test! Yes, that had to have been what was going on. Hermione let out the breath she had been inadvertently holding and confidently pulled out her wand to do as Lockhart instructed.

“Can you believe him?” roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with “Arresto Momentum” and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Hands-on?” said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. “Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing —”

“Rubbish,” said Hermione. “You’ve read his books — look at all those amazing things he’s done —”

“He says he’s done,” Ron muttered.

Hermione scowled. She was never wrong about anything and was certainly not wrong about Gilderoy Lockhart.


	7. Mudbloods and Murmurs

Hermione finished the full week of classes strong. In addition to acing Lockhart’s quiz in Defence Against The Dark Arts and changing the beetle into a button in Transfiguration, Hermione was able to re-pot ten Mandrakes and get full marks on a quiz on the International Warlock Convention of 1289 in History of Magic. In fact, she found the International Warlock Convention of 1289 so impressive that she was able to convince Professor Binns to assign her extra work so she could learn more. Hermione looked forward to spending some time in the Hogwarts Library over the weekend.

It had been wonderful catching up with Ron, Harry, Neville, and Parvati throughout the week between classes and homework. Hermione even got a chance to play a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron. Ron was one of the best chess players she had ever encountered. Hermione had been practicing with Bert over the summer months, but Ron still beat her over and over again. Wizard’s Chess and Muggle Chess were basically the same, except the magic pieces of the Wizard’s Chess set moved by themselves (and fought each other).

On Friday, after classes were over for the week, she and Ron sat in the overstuffed burgundy armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Rooms around the Wizard Chess set. Harry was up in his room, hiding from Colin Creevery who, even Hermione had to admit, was a bit relentless in trying to talk to Harry. There was a fine line between admiration and obsession, and Colin was toeing it.

“One of my favourite things about Professor Lockhart is his hope for the future, you know?” Hermione said as Ron contemplated his next move. He chewed noisily on jelly slugs from Honeydukes. “Harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples? I think that’s brilliant.”

“Hermione, could you shut it for one minute about Lockhart?” Ron said incredulously. “Honestly, woman. You don’t shut up about him.”

Hermione set her jaw. “I do so.”

“You don’t,” Ron said. “You and all of the other girls going on and on about his eyes and hair and muscles. Bleh.”

“I do not go on about his looks, Ronald,” Hermione said, her voice starting to rise. “He is so much more than his looks. Just think about how much he has accomplished!”

“Rubbish,” Ron said. “Knight to F6. He’s a flake. He doesn’t know anything. Face it, all you care about are his dreamy eyes or whatever it is you girls see in him.” At his command, the Knight glided across the board.

“If he didn’t know anything, how has he written so many books?”

“They’re rubbish too,” Ron said. “I think the only worthwhile book is the one about household pests--”

“ _ Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests _ ,” Hermione interjected.

“Yeah, that one. My mum loves that one. But everything else is complete rubbish,” Ron said, sitting back in the chair and flicking his shiny copper hair out of his light blue eyes so he could stare at Hermione. “And I should think someone as smart as you would think it rubbish as well,” he said with a hint of challenge to his voice.

Hermione sat straight up in a combination of anger, shock, and humbleness. A lot of thoughts instantly flew through her head. Ron questioning Lockhart’s integrity was like a personal affront to Hermione. He was also calling her stupid for liking him, but he also said she was smart in the same breath. Hermione didn’t know how to think. The jumble of thoughts was one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the whole world for Hermione. 

“It’s your turn,” Ron said.

“Queen to H4,” Hermione said without really thinking.

Ron leaned forward with eagerness. “Rook to H4,” he said gleefully. Hermione watched in horror as Ron’s Rook first spun and then tossed her Queen off the board onto the floor. Without her Queen, she hardly had a chance to beat Ron.

Hermione studied the board, trying to quiet the thoughts in her head. She was desperately fighting the bubbling anxiety. The one thing she knew was that Ron wouldn’t want to hear a litany of facts about Lockhart… though she didn’t want him thinking she was being blinded by Lockhart’s looks. No, there was much more to him. Ron was wrong, and she was right, as usual. There was no way she could be that shallow and blinded by Lockhart’s beauty. Just like she was enamored with Marius’s bravery and Finnegan’s humour, she was blown away by Gilderoy’s gallantry. Looks had nothing to do with it.

“As usual, Ronald,” Hermione said, “You have absolutely no idea what you are going off about.”

“Oh yeah?” Ron said. “You’re telling me you and all the girls don’t go completely mad about his looks?”

Hermione’s mind flashed back to that first day when they were washing off after Herbology and blushed. “That’s not the only thing we talk about,” Hermione said with a certainty in her voice. Ron, surprisingly, must have picked up on it because he didn’t press the subject.

They continued to play in silence for a bit longer until Ginny plopped down on the floor in front of Hermione. 

“Oy! What do you want?” Ron said.

“Nothing,” Ginny said. “Just sitting down. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yeah, I have a problem with that. You’re bothering me,” Ron replied.

“How am I bothering you, Howler boy?” Ginny said. “I just sat down!”

“Don’t call me Howler boy,” Ron said, his face flushing with anger. 

“I can sit wherever I want and call you whatever I want too,” Ginny retorted.

“Honestly, Ronald, what is your issue?” Hermione took the side of her new friend. 

“My issue is that she is ruining my concentration,” Ron said through clenched teeth. “And I don’t want to be seen hanging out with a stupid first-year.”

“Oh, come off it,” Ginny said. “It’s not like you have a reputation to speak of. You’re just Harry Potter’s friend.”

“Sod off!” Ron jumped up, nearly knocking the chessboard off the table.

Ginny grinned. “Ooooh, struck a nerve, have I?”

“At least I don’t become a bloody fool whenever Harry’s around,” Ron spat back. He put on his best “Ginny” impersonation. “Oh no, it’s Harry! Better run away and go write his name over and over in my diary up in my room!”

Ginny’s face faltered slightly. Hermione had learned last year that siblings, especially the Weasley siblings, fought all the time, but it was mostly in jest. She could tell, however, Ron’s words had gone a bit too far (and Ginny’s may also have as well). 

“Let’s just get back to the chess game,” she said, trying to cut the tension. “Or do you give up, Ron? Because I’m perfectly fine with winning.”

“Absolutely not,” Ron said, turning his attention back to the game. Hermione slid a hand out and gave Ginny’s arm a friendly squeeze. Ginny looked over and gave a half-smile, but Hermione could still see the lingering blush on her cheeks.

\-----

Saturday morning, Hermione went down to the Great Hall for breakfast and a little light reading before following through with her plan of spending the weekend in the library. She propped up  _ Traveling With Trolls _ so she could use both hands to eat her marmalade and toast. 

She was so engrossed that Hermione barely noticed Ron approaching until he sat down right next to her. She looked up and realized he was alone. “Where’s Harry?”

Hermione caught a slight frown cross Ron’s face. “Oliver Wood busted into our room and dragged him off to Quidditch practice before dawn,” he said, filling his plate. 

Quidditch was the Wizarding World sport equivalent to football that everyone at Hogwarts (except for Hermione, it seemed) was obsessed with. She wasn’t sure which part of his statement Ron was frowning at - the part where Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor team captain, came in so early, or the fact that Harry was the youngest Quidditch player in the history of Hogwarts. Usually, only students in their second year or older could play, but Harry was the exception last year.

“I can’t believe it’s starting already,” Hermione mused. “We’ve only just got done with the first week of school.”

“I think Wood wants a leg up on the other houses,” Ron said, his mouth full of sausage. “Last year’s final game nearly killed him. He doesn’t like to lose.” Hermione recalled Harry had been in the hospital wing for the last house game, leaving the team without a Seeker. They recorded the worst score in 300 years. It was rumoured Oliver Wood didn’t stop crying until halfway through the summer holiday. 

“Why don’t you try out for the team, Ron?” she asked. “second-years are allowed to play, right?”

“Right,” Ron said. “But they don’t have any open positions.”

“But wouldn’t it make sense to have an alternate player so what happened last year doesn’t happen again?” Hermione asked.

Ron cocked his head to the side, thinking it over. “Never thought about that,” Ron said. Hermione shook her head. It was such a simple concept.

“You should suggest it,” she said. Ron’s face perked up.

“You’re right! I should,” he said and grabbed a few pieces of toast. “Come on, let’s go!”

“I didn’t mean now -- oh, all right,” Hermione said, throwing her book into her bag and grabbing her last piece of toast. She followed Ron down to the Quidditch pitch, though Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors were nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe they just finished up,” Ron said, taking a seat. “Probably getting changed. I’ll talk to Wood when they come out.”

Hermione just nodded. She didn’t understand the urgency, but she didn’t really care to understand it either. She pulled her book back out and took a bite of her marmalade and toast. 

“Alright, Hermione?” came a little mousy voice from behind her. Colin was sitting in some of the highest seats directly behind Hermione.

“Hey Colin, how are you?” she called over to him.

“Great. Just waiting for Harry to come out!” he said excitedly.

“You know this kid?” Ron asked her with wide eyes.

“I met him at Kings Cross Station,” Hermione replied.

“Annoying little bugger,” Ron said under his breath so Colin couldn’t hear.

“He’s just curious,” Hermione whispered back.

“He and Ginny should start a Harry club. They both can’t get enough of him,” Ron said bitterly.

“Ronald, that’s not very nice. You really should be nicer to Ginny--”

“Aren’t you finished yet?” called Ron. At first, she thought he was talking to her, but then Hermione noticed Harry walking out of the changing rooms into the field.

“Haven’t even started,” said Harry. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.”

They watched him mount his broomstick and kick at the ground, soaring up into the air. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George. As much as she didn’t like Quidditch, Hermione had to admit that Harry was an excellent player.

“What’s that funny clicking noise?” Hermione heard Fred call as they hurtled around the corner.

Hermione instantly knew what the clicks were without looking. Colin was standing precariously on the highest bench, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium. “Look this way, Harry! This way!” he cried shrilly.

“Colin, cut it out,” Hermione whispered as loudly as she could. She knew they weren’t going to take too kindly to him taking pictures but didn’t want to startle Colin and cause him to fall. 

“Hope he falls,” Ron mumbled. 

“Ronald!” Hermione said. “That’s not very nice at all.”

“I didn’t say, ‘get hurt.’ I just said ‘fall,’” said Ron.

“It’s still not very nice,” Hermione said again and then turned her attention back to Colin. “Colin!” she called a little louder. “Colin! Stop taking pictures!”

“Oy!” Ron bellowed. Colin teetered on the bench but caught himself just in time. “The lady said, stop taking pictures! And I say listen to her!”

“What are they doing?” Colin called back. “And why are the Slytherins here?”

“What?” Ron shouted and looked across the pitch. Sure enough, most of the Gryffindors had landed and were standing off against a group of Slytherins on the other side of the pitch. Ron took off across the pitch with Hermione on his heels. She knew whatever happened wouldn’t be good.

“Ron, don’t get too upset,” she said, but she knew he wasn’t listening. She tried to catch up.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry when they finally crossed the pitch. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Ron gaped, openmouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. Hermione could feel all of the anger toward Draco and his father bubbling to the surface. She tried to take a breath to calm herself, but it did nothing. 

“Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly. His voice was as slimy as his house. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laughter. All Hermione could think about was how Draco and his father had made her feel… how the clerk had made her feel… the anger started to overflow.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

Hermione knew at once that Malfoy had said something horrible because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint, the Slytherin captain, had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him. One of the other Gryffindor players, Alicia, shrieked, “How dare you!” and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy’s face.

It all happened in slow motion. A loud bang echoed around the stadium, and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he gave an almighty belch, and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely. The pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms. Hermione felt horrible. She knew Ron had only been trying to defend her. 

“What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can’t you?” Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a tremendous heave, and more slugs dribbled down his front. Hermione tried to shoo Colin away, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her.

“Oooh,” said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. “Can you hold him still, Harry?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” said Harry angrily. Hermione didn’t blame Harry for snapping, but also didn’t miss the hurt look on Colin’s face as he stopped in his tracks. Hermione looked away and continued to support Ron out of the stadium, across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

“Nearly there, Ron,” said Hermione as the gamekeeper’s cabin came into view. “You’ll be all right in a minute — almost there —”

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid’s house when the front door opened, but it wasn’t Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out. Hermione’s heart fluttered! He’d surely be able to help!

“Quick, behind here,” Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly. She didn’t understand why Harry wasn’t as excited to see Lockhart as she was. 

“It’s a simple matter if you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. “If you need help, you know where I am! I’ll let you have a copy of my book. I’m surprised you haven’t already got one — I’ll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-bye!” And he strode away toward the castle.

They waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid’s front door. Hermione knocked urgently. 

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

“Bin wonderin’ when you’d come ter see me — come in, come in — thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again —”

Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn’t seem perturbed at Ron’s problem in the least. Hermione, meanwhile, tried to diagnose the problem. She realized with dread that Ron had probably attempted to hex Draco with  _ Slugulus Eructo _ , the slug-vomiting charm, and, because his wand was broken, it had backfired.

“Better out than in,” Hagrid chirped, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. “Get ’em all up, Ron.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to do except wait for it to stop,” said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. “That’s a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand —” Hermione shook her head. Ron, unfortunately, was going to be in for a long, uncomfortable night.

Hagrid was bustling around, making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry.

“What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?” Harry asked.

“Givin’ me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

Hermione couldn't believe Hagrid was bad-mouthing Professor Lockhart. “I think you’re being a bit unfair,” she said with a high, strained voice. “Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job —”

“He was the on’y man for the job,” said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. “An’ I mean the on’y one. Gettin’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take it on, see. They’re startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now. So tell me,” said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. “Who was he tryin’ ter curse?”

“Malfoy called Hermione something — it must’ve been really bad because everyone went wild,” Harry said. Hermione’s stomach dropped to her toes. The full weight of what had happened finally hit her now that the stress and excitement of getting Ron to safety were over. For the first time in her life, Hermione didn’t want to know what the meaning of a word was. She just wanted to forget it had ever happened. 

“It was bad,” said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. “Malfoy called her ‘Mudblood,’ Hagrid —”

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

“He didn’!” he growled at Hermione.

“He did,” Hermione said sadly. “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course —” 

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” gasped Ron, coming back up. Hermione figured that was the case, but to hear Ron confirm it was like a punch in the stomach. The same feelings she had at  _ Flourish and Blotts _ came rushing back as Ron continued. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born — you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards — like Malfoy’s family — who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.” He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, “I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom — he’s pure-blood, and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta. She was simply overwhelmed with emotions.

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles, we’d’ve died out.”

He retched and ducked out of sight again. 

“Well, I don’ blame yeh fer tryin’ ter curse him, Ron,” said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. “Bu’ maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. ’Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve come marchin’ up ter school if yeh’d cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble. Harry,” said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I’ve heard you’ve bin givin’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one?”

“I have not been giving out signed photos,” Harry said hotly. “If Lockhart’s still spreading that around —”

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

“I’m on’y jokin’,” he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face-first into the table. “I knew yeh hadn’t really. I told Lockhart yeh didn’ need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin’.”

“Bet he didn’t like that,” said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

“Don’ think he did,” said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. “An’ then I told him I’d never read one o’ his books an’ he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?” he added as Ron reappeared.

“No thanks,” said Ron weakly. “Better not risk it.”

“Come an’ see what I’ve bin growin’,” said Hagrid as Harry and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid’s house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

“Gettin’ on well, aren’t they?” said Hagrid happily. “Fer the Halloween feast … should be big enough by then.”

“What’ve you been feeding them?” said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

“Well, I’ve bin givin’ them — you know — a bit o’ help —”

“An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?” said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. She knew the Hogwarts groundskeeper had been expelled when he was a student and forbidden to do magic… However, she had been sure he snuck in some spells here and there, and this was definitely an example of it. Instead of chastising him, however, Hermione returned the compliment he had given her. “Well, you’ve done a good job on them.”

“That’s what yer little sister said,” Hagrid said, nodding at Ron. “Met her jus’ yesterday.” Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. “Said she was jus’ lookin’ round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin’ she might run inter someone else at my house.” He winked at Harry. “If yeh ask me, she wouldn’ say no ter a signed —”

“Oh, shut up,” said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter, and the ground was sprayed with slugs. Hermione sighed. She’d have to tell Ginny to play it a bit cooler.

“Watch it!” Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally but only bringing up two very small slugs. Hermione was pleased Ron was getting better, but the less she worried about Ron, the more she thought about the word “Mudblood” and the meaning behind it. Then, without warning, a memory popped into her head. The Sorting Hat. “Those they call mud…” Hermione tried to shake it off. It was just too much to think of right now.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, “There you are, Potter — Weasley.” Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. “You will both do your detentions this evening.”

“What’re we doing, Professor?” said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

“You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch,” said Professor McGonagall. “And no magic, Weasley — elbow grease.”

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school. Hermione tried to suppress a grin. Break the rules and pay the consequences.

“And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,” said Professor McGonagall. Hermione gasped in jealousy.

“Oh n — Professor, can’t I go and do the trophy room, too?” said Harry. 

“Certainly not,” said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. “Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o’clock sharp, both of you.”

Harry and Ron slumped into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a  _ well-you-did-break-school-rules _ sort of expression. She did not pity them.

“Filch’ll have me there all night,” said Ron heavily. “No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I’m no good at Muggle cleaning.”

“I’d swap anytime,” said Harry hollowly. “I’ve had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart’s fan mail … he’ll be a nightmare. …”

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Hermione said. “Helping Lockhart with his letters is  _ clearly _ the better punishment. In fact, I’d argue it’s too good for a detention.”

“Of course that’s what you think,” Ron sneered. 

“What does that mean?” Hermione challenged him.

“You know exactly what that means,” Ron said. 

“You’re impossible, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione exclaimed and stormed out of the Great Hall towards the library, where she should have been all along, thank you very much. 

\-----

Hermione made it to the Hogwarts Library in record time, twisting and turning through the ancient corridors filled with students, professors, and ghosts. The musty smell of leather, parchment, and dust greeted her like an old friend. The scent had an immediate calming effect on her. As she breathed in, her anxiety started to subside. No “word vomit” this time. Hermione let Professor Lockhart’s magnificent words consume her brain within the calming bookshelves, so no thought could be had for the Sorting Hat and those they call mud. She stayed there rereading  _ Magical Me _ for most of the day into the late evening before going to bed. She was in no mood to talk to anyone, especially with Ron and Harry after their detentions.

The next morning, after dreaming of a particularly terrifying mud eating monster, Hermione grabbed a quick bite to eat in the early dawn and returned to the Library. Back in a small nook in the Charms section, Hermione found her favourite desk and plopped down. With it being just the first week of school, Hermione found herself mostly alone in the library, just as she had the day before. She could hear another student in the next section over riffling the pages of an old book, but Hermione paid them no attention. She pulled out all of her Gilderoy Lockhart books and placed them on the desk in front of her to make it easier to pick what to read next. She tried to be as quiet as possible, but one of the books knocked off the table. The loud crash seemed to be magnified in the enormous Library.

“Hermione?” came a voice from the other side of the stacks.

“Yes?” Hermione said hesitantly.

Parvati popped her head around the corner of the shelves. “Hey!”

“How did you know it was me?” Hermione asked.

“Who else would be in the library during the first week of school?” Parvati laughed.

“That’s fair,” Hermione said with a smile. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Parvati’s smile faltered a bit. “I was just looking something up,” she said mysteriously.

“Oh? What are you looking up? Maybe I could help you!”

“No, I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Parvati said.

“It’s no bother, really,” assured Hermione. “Besides, I feel as though we haven’t had a good chance to talk since we’ve been back. Lavender hasn’t left your side for a minute.”

“Yeah,” Parvati said. “We wrote letters to each other this summer too, and I guess we got a bit closer.”

Hermione felt slightly miffed at the idea Parvati and Lavender were becoming better friends (and that Parvati had someone else to write to this summer) but tried to brush it aside. She had, of course, become friends with Ginny just the same way. “That’s nice,” Hermione said with a forced smile. “So, what do you need help with?”

Parvati stared at Hermione, seemingly trying to decide her head. “You sure you won’t make fun of me?” she said finally.

“Of course not!”

“Even if you think what I am doing is silly?” Parvati continued.

“I promise!” Hermione said.

“Ok,” Parvati said and looked around to make sure they were alone. She took a few steps into the Charms section and sat across from Hermione. “I’m trying to look up a love spell.”

“Oh? For who?” Hermione said, trying to quiet the need to blurt out all of the reasons a love spell was not a good idea, and took a deep breath instead.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” Parvati said in a squeaky voice. 

“The Hufflepuff?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Yes! I met him in Herbology,” Hermione said. 

“You don’t like him too, do you?” Parvati asked, sounding nervous.

“What? No,” Hermione stammered. “I mean, yes, I like him, I guess, but not like that. I just think he’s nice, or at least that’s how he seemed.”

“Good. I mean, yes, he is,” Parvati said. “I only asked because Lavender likes him too, and… yeah.”

“Why do you need a love spell, though?”

“Lavender is so much prettier than I am,” Parvati sighed. “I need an advantage.”

“Looks don’t matter, Parvati!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Says the girl who swoons with the rest of us every time Professor Lockhart enters the room,” Parvati giggled.

“I do not!” Hermione said. 

“Oh, you so do,” Parvati said. “But that’s ok, we all do it. He’s dreamy.”

“He’s just as brave as he is dreamy,” Hermione argued.

“Sure, that’s just icing on the cake, though,” Parvati said with a wink. “You can’t sit here and tell me that you’d rather read his books than look into those deep blue eyes.”

Hermione blushed. She didn’t want to prove Ron right, but she couldn’t help herself. “Can I do both?”

The girls erupted into laughter, but Hermione forced herself to stop after a few seconds. They were still in the library, after all.

Hermione chose her next words carefully. She still had to convey how a love potion was a horrible idea without ruining the fun they were having. “If you use a love potion, how am I going to learn how to talk to boys and flirt?” she said. “You’re my social model. I need to learn how to talk to people. Remember how horribly it went with Finn, the postman?”

“Yeah, but--”

“But nothing. How about I will help you with a love potion  _ after  _ you try to talk to him the  _ normal _ way first.”

Parvati thought a moment on it before shaking her head and chuckling. “Fine. But don’t think you were being clever there, Hermione. I know exactly what you’re doing.” Parvati gave Hermione a sly grin.

“You are much smarter than you give yourself credit for, do you know that?” Hermione said. 

“Tell that to Padma,” Parvati said with a laugh. Padma was Parvati’s twin sister who was in Ravenclaw. The sisters were extremely competitive, especially when it came to their studies. “You know, you’ve come a long way since last year, Hermione.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last year - let’s be honest - you were a social nightmare,” Parvati said. “But this year, you seem more understanding. Less judgemental. You don’t just blurt out everything in your brain. It’s nice.” Hermione blushed as Parvati continued. “So, yeah, I can be your social model for now, but you don’t really need me anymore. You’re finding your place here in the Wizarding World.”

\-----

After chatting a bit more with Parvati in the Library, Hermione settled in for her ninth reread of  _ Travels With Trolls _ . She could feel her mind slipping back to the Sorting Hat, and she didn’t want to deal with it. She was on pace to beat her time from her eighth reread but was interrupted by Ron and Harry towards the end of the 52nd chapter.

“‘Moine! There you are!” Ron called loudly as they turned the corner into her little nook.

“Shhhh,” Hermione whispered. “This is a library, Ronald.”

“Right, sorry,” Ron said but made more noise than an elephant in a china shop as he pulled out the chair and sat down. 

“We’ve been looking for you all over,” Harry said quietly.

“I told him you’d be here in the Charms section,” Ron said proudly with a grin.

“Keep your voice down,” Hermione said, but it didn’t escape her that Ron knew her well enough to know where she liked to go in the Library. “So, you’ve found me. What do you want?”

“I wanted to tell you what happened last night,” Harry said urgently under his breath. He leaned in. “So I was in Lockhart’s office signing loads of photos for him, when I heard this deep whisper saying, ‘Come to me… Let me rip and tear and kill you’ or something like that, but Lockhart said he didn’t hear it. But I swear I heard it, Hermione! Clear as anything!”

Hermione gasped. “What do you think it was?”

“I have no idea,” Harry said. “But it can’t be good, right?”

“Well, no, of course not,” Hermione said, trying to think. “Any kind of mysterious voice threatening to kill you is usually not a good thing.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Ron said in his full voice. He was clearly trying to make up for what he had said the day before by being nice to Hermione. She knew his games, and she wasn’t in the mood to play them.

“It’s kind of obvious, Ronald,” Hermione retorted and turned back to Harry. “Where did the voice seem to be coming from? Did you recognize it at all?”

Harry paused for a moment to think back. “It definitely seemed to be coming from somewhere just outside the room. I don’t know. Maybe not. It was close, but far away. And no, I didn’t recognize it. It was really deep and raspy.”

Hermione had a sinking thought. “Like You Know Who?” she whispered, afraid of the answer.

“No, not really,” Harry said, thinking hard. “But I can’t be sure.”

Hermione’s heart dropped, and a ball of anxiety replaced it, burning in her chest. Not again.


	8. The Deathday Party

October arrived before Hermione knew it, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward.

Ginny, who had been looking pale, was bullied (thankfully) into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid red hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire. Hermione was worried about her - Ginny didn’t seem to be fitting in at Hogwarts regardless of whether or not she was sick. Hermione barely saw her except at meals. She was worried Ginny was ignoring her because she didn’t stand up to Ron that day they were playing Wizard’s Chess. Every time she had a chance to bring it up, Ginny seemed to disappear from the room. 

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, Hermione noticed, was not dampened. Harry seemed to always be on the Quidditch Pitch for practice. Frankly, Hermione was worried about his schoolwork and made sure she was still available to help him (and, by help, she didn’t mean completely do his work).

Ron never followed through with asking Oliver Wood whether or not he could try out to be an alternative for the team, so that left Hermione alone with him. Hermione supposed this was another reason Ginny was staying away from her since she knew Ginny had no desire to be friends with her brother. Hermione was doing her best to see it that way and not come to any rash conclusions as to why Ginny was keeping her distance.

The added time with Ron provided added insults from the snarky redhead. Every possible chance he got, Ron would make fun of Hermione for liking Lockhart. He and Hermione were commonly seen throughout the castle bickering. 

Hermione took refuge from Ron’s annoyance either in the Library or the second-floor girls' lavatory. It was one of the gloomiest, most depressing bathrooms Hermione had ever set foot in, but that made it more likely she’d be uninterrupted. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was constantly damp, and the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched. One of them was dangling off its hinges.

The bathroom aesthetics were definitely not the appeal - Hermione’s friend, Myrtle, was the resident ghost in that area of the castle. Myrtle, or Moaning Myrtle as most others called her, was a squat student with pimples and thick glasses. She died in 1943 and became a ghost, wearing her school uniform, as well as her glasses, for eternity. She could travel within all of the Hogwarts bathrooms but tended to stay in that particular one. Hermione had met Myrtle the previous year, and the two developed a friendship. Myrtle was a Ravenclaw when she was alive and liked to discuss Hermione’s schoolwork with her (which was just fine with Hermione).

After a particularly bitter exchange with Ron, Hermione decided to pay her friend a visit - the first of the year. Myrtle was the best person to practice her social awareness with - Myrtle could take the littlest things as a personal affront.

“Myrtle? Myrtle? Are you here?” Hermione called out as she tried to find a dry spot to put her bag down.

“Oh, now you come to visit me,” Myrtle moaned as she swooped up through one of the toilets. “It’s only been a month since the term started.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s what they all say,” Myrtle said.

“How was your summer, Myrtle?” Hermione said, changing the subject. She suspected most people avoided Myrtle because of her tendency to whine and be so negative. Still, it was just a matter of redirecting Myrtle’s annoyance to a conversation she enjoyed.

“Dreadful,” Myrtle answered, but flew over to sit near Hermione (which was always a good sign). She leaned in as if to tell Hermione a secret. “But, I just found out Sir Nicholas was rejected for the Headless Hunt, which put me in a much better mood,” she said with a cackle.

“Why would they reject him?” Hermione asked. Sir Nicholas, or “Nearly Headless Nick” as the students referred to him, was the resident Gryffindor ghost.

“I suppose because he’s only nearly headless,” Myrtle answered simply. “He has been moping around the castle for hours now.”

“Poor Sir Nicholas,” Hermione said.

“Serves him right. He and Peeves have been bothering me all summer.”

“I’m sorry, Myrtle,” Hermione said.

“Now that you’re finally here, you should tell me about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor,” Myrtle giggled.

“Professor Lockhart?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s dreamy.”

“And he’s brilliant and brave too. He was a Ravenclaw when he went to Hogwarts,” Hermione added.

“What is his name again?” Myrtle asked.

“Gilderoy Lockhart,” Hermione repeated. “He would have been a student at Hogwarts starting in--”

“1975,” Myrtle finished. “I remember him. He was always very vain. He was always upset that no one thought he was special… except he wasn’t special.”

“Well,” Hermione said, “He is very special. Extraordinary, in fact. Professor Lockhart has done so many things for the Wizarding World.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same wizard?” Myrtle asked. She shrugged. “Maybe he changed. His looks have gotten better, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, he has definitely done a lot of the Wizarding World,” Hermione said, purposefully ignoring the last part about Lockhart’s looks.

“He always practiced memory charms in the fourth-floor boys' lavatory. I would sneak through the pipes and spy on him,” Myrtle continued. “I’m surprised he is the Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. I always thought he’d go into Charms.”

“He’s much too brave for Charms,” Hermione said dreamily before collecting her things again. 

“Whatever you say,” Myrtle said, flying off across the room. “I think you just like him.”

“I do not,” Hermione insisted.

“You do so! Hermione and Lockhart, sitting in a tree!” Myrtle started to sing. Hermione’s cheeks burned.

“Shut up!” Hermione screamed, startling both Myrtle and herself.

There was a long, silent pause. Suddenly, Myrtle broke out into a horrendous wail. “Everyone is so mean to me! Even you! And I thought you were my friend!”

Hermione felt horrible for snapping at her but knew Myrtle was overreacting (as she quite frequently did). “I am your friend, Myrtle,” she said.

“No, you just come here because no one else likes you!” 

Hermione felt as though Myrtle had hit her. Tears welled in her eyes. Hermione hurriedly started to gather her things to leave. 

“Fine. Just leave me all alone like everyone else,” cried Myrtle.

“I have to go help Ron with his homework, that’s all,” Hermione said as she got up, hoping Myrtle couldn’t hear the emotion in her voice. Myrtle made a face and crossed her arms. “I promise I’ll come back soon, though!” she added in a fake voice. 

“We’ll see about that,” Myrtle sneered as she dove into the last toilet on the right. Hermione sighed and hurried out of the bathroom.

\-----

It took a while for Hermione to calm down and think rationally about the exchange. Myrtle had always been slightly rude, but never that malicious. Was it even worth it to visit with Myrtle anymore? Hermione weighed the pros and cons. On the one hand, she had considered Myrtle a good friend last year. On the other hand, Myrtle was kind of right - Hermione had only developed that friendship with her because she was lonely. Now that Hermione had Ron, Harry, Neville, Parvati, and Ginny as her friends, did she really need to subject herself to Myrtle’s moods? Hermione made the decision that she’d still be nice to Myrtle but not go out of her way to be her friend. She felt much better.

Later that evening, Hermione, Ron, and Harry were sitting near the Gryffindor Common Room’s fireplace. Hermione mentioned Myrtle’s gossip about Sir Nicholas. 

“Yes!” exclaimed Harry. “Funny you should mention that. I saw Nearly Headless Nick this morning, and he told me all about the Headless Hunt. He was so upset, but then he invited me to his Deathday Party. I guess it’s like how we celebrate for our birthdays, but ghosts celebrate their deathdays. I was going to ask you both if you wanted to go with me.”

“A deathday party?” said Hermione keenly. “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those — it’ll be fascinating!”

“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. “Sounds dead depressing to me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her parchment and quill. The rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but all looked bright and cheerful inside. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework, or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had “rescued” the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class, and it was now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

The salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander’s mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, made it nearly impossible for Hermione to get any work done. She put her work back into her bag with a sigh and quizzed Harry some more about Sir Nicholas’s Deathday Celebration. She was very excited about the opportunity to experience yet another new Wizarding adventure.

\-----

One night at supper, Hermione found herself sitting alone rereading  _ Break With A Banshee _ in the Great Hall. Harry had been called away for an emergency Quidditch practice, and Ron had forgotten the three-foot essay on the dangers of Puffer-fish eyes Snape had assigned entirely, so he was stuck in the library. Hermione refused to help him because he shouldn’t have put it off so long. Also, three feet wasn’t hard at all - Hermione had written seven.

Hermione didn’t mind sitting alone - in fact, it was quite lovely to get some uninterrupted reading in. After a few minutes, however, Parvati plopped down opposite of Hermione and was joined by Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Parvati, who blushed and smiled slightly. 

“Hey, Hermione, do you know Justin?” Parvati said with a wink. Hermione tried to go along with whatever Parvati was trying to do (since she already told Parvati she knew Justin).

“We’ve met in Herbology,” Hermione said but put out her hand to shake anyway. 

“Nice to meet you again,” Justin said and accepted the handshake. “Loved that book, by the way. I think that was one of Lockhart’s best, yeah?”

“Oh, I agree,” Hermione said eagerly.

“Sometimes, I think he likes Lockhart more than me,” Parvati said and giggled.

“He’s braver and smarter, that’s for sure, but you’re prettier,” Justin grinned. Hermione frowned slightly. That didn’t seem like a particularly sweet compliment, but what did Hermione know.

“Justin’s been helping me study for Lockhart’s class,” Parvati said. “I’ve been finding it so much more interesting than last year.”

“Much better than Quirrell, that’s for sure,” Justin said. “The bloke was scared of his own shadow.”

“What are you doing, slummin’ it at the Lion’s Table?” Ernie Macmillian’s voice boomed from behind Hermione. She spun her head around. Ernie and Hannah Abbott, two other Hufflepuffs, were standing behind Hermione. Ernie had a mischievous smirk on his face. “Just kidding,” he said, but Hermione didn’t really think he was kidding at all. She pushed a thought of the clerk at Flourish and Blotts out of her head.

“Hi, Hermione,” Hannah said in a small voice with a smile. 

“Hi, Hannah,” Hermione smiled back.

“We were just about to head back to the common room to play Exploding Snap, you comin’?” Ernie said.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit,” Justin said. “Let me finish my pie first, mate.”

“Well, hurry up. Spend too much time with the Lions, and you’ll be trying to single-handedly save the Wizarding World with just a shoelace and quill or something,” Ernie laughed loudly. Justin grunted a laugh before taking another shovel full of pie. 

“Don’t be an arse,” Parvati said hotheadedly. Hermione was somewhat relieved Parvati beat her to it. All she had just wanted was a nice, quiet dinner with her book.

“Oh, come off it. You know I’m just joking,” Ernie said again. “Don’t get yourself in a tizzy.”

“I won’t have to ‘get myself in a tizzy’ if you just shut your mouth,” Parvati challenged.

“You got a hot-headed one there, mate,” Ernie said to Justin with a smirk.

“Don’t talk about my friend like that,” Hermione spat. She couldn’t sit quietly any longer. 

“Relax,” Ernie said. “You Gryffindors can’t take a joke, can you.”

“It  _ was  _ kind of mean,” Hannah said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. She looked at Hermione with an apologetic look. “Come on, let’s just go back to the Common Room. Justin will be there soon. I’ll play you until he gets back.”

Ernie scoffed but followed Hannah out of the Great Hall. Hermione and Parvati shared a look and then turned towards Justin. “Way to stand up for me, Justin,” Parvati snapped.

“I couldn’t very well say anything with a load of pie in my mouth, now, could I?”

“That’s not an excuse,” Parvati said with a frown.

“He’s certainly not very nice,” Hermione said.

“Eh, Ernie means well. He just likes to joke around a lot.”

“I wouldn’t call that joking,” Parvati said. “That was pretty mean-spirited.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll give him a talking to when I get back to the Common Room if you want,” Justin sighed, though Hermione didn’t think he meant it.

\-----

October seemed to fly by. Before they knew it, it was Halloween. It was also the day of Sir Nicholas’s Deathday Celebration. Hermione was so excited to be going to such a unique event filled with so much history. The oral histories alone from all of the ghosts in attendance would be a treasure trove of knowledge. Hermione barely talked herself out of taking a quill and parchment to write everything she learned down.

Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were not as excited. The rest of the school were happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. Apparently, that seemed more exciting to Ron and Harry, which Hermione couldn’t understand in the least.

“A promise is a promise,” Hermione reminded Harry. “You said you’d go to the deathday party.

So at precisely seven o’clock, Hermione, Harry, and Ron walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick’s party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they took. Hermione shivered but was intrigued and kept moving down the corridor. As they continued, they heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that supposed to be music?” Ron whispered. Hermione shushed him. They turned a corner and saw Sir Nicholas standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

“My dear friends,” he said mournfully. “Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…”

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

Hermione gasped. It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

“Shall we have a look around?” Harry suggested. Hermione shivered but shook her head, determined to persevere.

“Careful not to walk through anyone,” said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Hermione wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other spirits. Towards the back of the group of ghosts, Hermione saw a squat translucent girl in Ravenclaw robes and glasses. Myrtle.

“Oh, no,” said Hermione with a groan. “Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —”

“Who?” said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

“She haunts one of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor,” said Hermione.

“She haunts a toilet?”

Hermione quickly realized that she didn’t want to tell Harry and Ron about all of the time she had spent with Myrtle. She wasn’t exactly sure why, but she was quite certain it was a secret she wanted to keep to herself. “Yes. It’s been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place,” she said, starting to ramble. “I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it’s awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you —”

“Look, food!” said Ron. Hermione had never been so excited to be interrupted by Ron talking about food in her life.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. The three friends approached it eagerly but stopped suddenly in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in fuzzy green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words:

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

The three friends watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

“Can you taste it if you walk through it?” Harry asked him.

“Almost,” said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

“I expect they’ve let it rot to give it a stronger flavor,” said Hermione, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis.

“Can we move? I feel sick,” said Ron.

They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.

“Hello, Peeves,” said Harry cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

“Nibbles?” he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

“No thanks,” said Hermione, her stomach turning.

“Heard you talking about poor Myrtle,” said Peeves, his eyes dancing. “Rude you was about poor Myrtle.” He took a deep breath and bellowed, “OY! MYRTLE!”

“Oh, no, Peeves, don’t tell her what I said. She’ll be really upset,” Hermione whispered frantically as her anxiety started to bubble up. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t mind her — er, hello, Myrtle.”

“What?” she said sulkily.

“How are you, Myrtle?” said Hermione in a falsely bright voice that she hoped Myrtle would believe. “It’s nice to see you out of the toilet.”

Myrtle sniffed. Hermione knew Myrtle was probably angry at her for not coming back and begging for forgiveness. Still, she didn’t feel like getting into it with Myrtle. She knew too many of her secrets. 

“Miss Granger was just talking about you —” said Peeves slyly in Myrtle’s ear. Hermione’s heart started to pound.

“Just saying — saying — how nice you look tonight,” said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously. 

“You’re making fun of me,” she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

“No — honestly — didn’t I just say how nice Myrtle’s looking?” said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs, hoping desperately they’d get the hint. Myrtle was so sensitive, and if she believed Hermione had been talking about her, she’d never hear the end of it… especially after how they had left things the last time.

“Oh, yeah —”

“She did —”

“Don’t lie to me,” Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. “D’you think I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!”

“You’ve forgotten pimply,” Peeves hissed in her ear.

Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, “Pimply! Pimply!”

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione sadly. She felt positively horrible. Luckily, Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd, distracting Hermione a bit from Myrtle.

“Enjoying yourselves?”

“Oh, yes,” they lied.

“Not a bad turnout,” said Sir Nicholas proudly. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. … It’s nearly time for my speech. I’d better go and warn the orchestra. …”

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

“Oh, here we go,” said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Hermione and Harry both started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick’s face. Hermione quickly realized - they must be the Headless Hunt that had rejected Sir Nicholas.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leaped down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Sir Nicholas, squashing his head back onto his neck.

“Nick!” he roared. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?”

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

“Welcome, Patrick,” said Nick stiffly.

“Live ’uns!” said Sir Patrick, spotting Hermione, Harry, and Ron and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

“Very amusing,” said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

“Don’t mind Nick!” shouted Sir Patrick’s head from the floor. “Still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say — look at the fellow —”

“I think,” said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, “Nick’s very — frightening and — er —”

“Ha!” yelled Sir Patrick’s head. “Bet he asked you to say that!” (Sir Nicholas had, indeed, asked Harry to say that.)

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” said Sir Nicholas loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight. Hermione felt terrible for him.

“My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow …”

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey, and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers. It was absolutely heartbreaking to watch.

“I can’t stand much more of this,” Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor.

“Let’s go,” Harry agreed. Hermione was glad she didn’t have to be the one to suggest it.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

“Pudding might not be finished yet,” said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

Harry suddenly stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall. Hermione nearly ran into the back of him.

“Harry, what’re you — ?” Ron asked

“It’s that voice again — shut up a minute — Listen!” said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.

Harry snapped his head upward. A mixture of fear and excitement crossed his face as he stared at the dark ceiling. Hermione was transfixed in fear. She had never seen Harry so terrified.

“This way,” he shouted, and he began to run up the stairs into the entrance hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.

“Harry, what’re we —” Hermione started to say.

“SHH!”

Hermoine strained her ears but couldn’t hear whatever Harry was hearing.

“It’s going to kill someone!” Harry shouted, and ignoring Ron’s and Hermione’s bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time. Ron looked at Hermione and took off after Harry. Hermione rushed to keep up.

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Harry, what was that all about?” said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything. …”

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

“Look!”

Something was shining on the wall ahead. The three friends approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. 

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

“What’s that thing — hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped — there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we try and help —” Harry began awkwardly.

“Trust me,” said Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.” Hermione had to agree with Ron and turned to leave.

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; the next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Draco Malfoy. Hermione’s heart fell to her feet.


	9. The Writing on the Walls

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?”

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy’s shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

“You!” he screeched. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll —”

“Argus!”

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger.”

Hermione’s whole body went cold with fear. It was as if all of the ghosts at Sir Nicholas’s party had just floated through her. Even though they had done nothing wrong, all of the evidence was against them. They were going to get expelled. 

Suddenly, Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. Hermione couldn’t help but gasp. She hadn’t noticed he had arrived in her total shock and terror. Maybe there was hope yet.

“My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. Hermione couldn’t even feel her feet. They were numb with fear.

As they entered Lockhart’s darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls; despite the circumstance, Hermione felt her heart give a little flutter knowing she was finally gaining access to Professor Lockhart’s office. He gracefully glided to his desk and lit the candles. The amber flame danced across his chiseled face.

Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Hermione, Harry, and Ron exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris’s fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Professor Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions. 

“It was definitely a curse that killed her — probably the Trans-mogrifian Torture — I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her…” Hermione knew that between Professors Lockhart, McGonagall, and Dumbledore, everything would be fixed. They would realize that she, Ron, and Harry hadn’t done anything to the poor cat (or, at least, that’s what she was telling herself over and over as she tried to control her breathing).

Hermione was having a tough time remaining calm and not just running at the mouth. She focused instead on Filch’s dry, racking sobs, trying to take a breath every other hiccup. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Hermione’s heart hurt for him, even through her anxiety. The poor man had no one but the mangy feline. 

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

“… I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou,” said Lockhart, “a series of attacks, the full story’s in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once. …” The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.

At last, Dumbledore straightened up.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” he said softly. Everyone looked at Dumbledore.

“Not dead?” choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why’s she all — all stiff and frozen?”

“She has been Petrified,” said Dumbledore.

“Ah! I thought so!” said Lockhart, but no one but Hermione seemed to pay him any attention. 

Professor Dumbledore continued. “But how, I cannot say.”

“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.

“No second-year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly. Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t even known she had been holding. “It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —”

“He did it. He did it!” Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. “You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found — in my office — he knows I’m a — I’m a —” Filch’s face worked horribly. “He knows I’m a Squib!” he finished. Hermione frowned. What was a squib? And how did Harry know Filch was one?

“I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Harry said loudly. “And I don’t even know what a Squib is.” At least Hermione wasn’t the only one.

“Rubbish!” snarled Filch. “He saw my Kwikspell letter!”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows. Hermione’s heart started to pound again. Professor Snape hated Harry and, by proxy, hated Hermione and Ron. Whatever he had to say probably wouldn’t do well for their case for innocence.

“Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. Hermione’s “word vomit” was finally good for something. “… there were hundreds of ghosts. They’ll tell you we were there —”

“But why not join the feast afterward?” said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why go up to that corridor?”

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry. She couldn’t think of anything fast enough.

“Because — because —” Harry stuttered. Hermione held her breath. “Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,” he said.

“Without any supper?” said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.”

“We weren’t hungry,” said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble. Hermione grimaced while Snape’s nasty smile widened.

“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” he said. “It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready, to be honest.”

“Really, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall sharply, “I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong.”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” Dumbledore said firmly.

Snape looked furious. So did Filch.

“My cat has been Petrified!” he shrieked, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it,” Lockhart butted in. “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —”

“Excuse me,” said Snape icily. “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”

There was a very awkward pause.

“You may go,” Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

They went as quickly as they could without actually running. Hermione didn’t allow herself to breathe until they walked out of Lockhart’s office and down the hall. The breath she had been holding escaped her lips with such force, she almost fell over. Her body was still tingling with terror.

“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” came Harry’s voice in the dark classroom.

“No,” said Ron, without hesitation. “Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.”

“You do believe me, don’t you?”

“ ’Course I do,” said Ron quickly. Hermione was glad that Harry asked Ron and not her. She didn’t know how she would have answered… or even if she  _ could _ answer. She was still trying to breathe correctly. “But,” Ron continued, “you must admit it’s weird…”

“I know it’s weird,” said Harry. “The whole thing’s weird. What was that writing on the wall about? ‘The Chamber Has Been Opened’ … What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, it rings a sort of bell,” said Ron slowly. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once … might’ve been Bill. …”

“And what on earth’s a Squib?” said Harry.

To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

“Well — it’s not funny really — but as it’s Filch,” he said. “A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn’t got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch’s trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much.” Ron gave a satisfied smile. “He’s bitter.”

A clock chimed somewhere.

“Midnight,” said Harry. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

\-----

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. They had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly” and “looking happy.” Hermione pitied him.

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris’s fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

“But you haven’t really got to know Mrs. Norris,” Ron told her bracingly. “Honestly, we’re much better off without her.” Ginny’s lip trembled. “Stuff like this doesn’t often happen at Hogwarts,” Ron assured her. “They’ll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he’s got time to Petrify Filch before he’s expelled. I’m only joking —” Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched and ran up to the Girls’ Dormitory.

Hermione followed her up the winding stone staircase. She passed the door to her own room and continued down the hall to where the first-years’ rooms were clustered together. Hermione realized with a sinking feeling she didn’t know which room was Ginny’s and chided herself for not visiting sooner. 

A noise to her right stopped Hermione in her tracks. It seemed to sound like soft crying. Hermione paused with her hand over the door handle and put her ear against the heavy oak door. Even through the door’s weight, she could hear the cries a tad more clear, and they definitely sounded like Ginny’s.

Hermione was torn with indecision. She wanted to be there for Ginny but also didn’t want to be wrong and barge in on some poor first-year. Hermione took a breath - she was rarely wrong and thought her odds were on her side.

The heavy door swung open, and Hermione was met with a room similar to hers: five elegant beds arranged in a circle with walls of soft gold. Each students’ trunk lay at the foot of each bed. Her eyes quickly scanned the room and there, in the second bed clockwise from the door, was Ginny laying facedown on her bed. A dark leather book lay open next to her. 

“Ginny?” Hermione called quietly, not to startle her. It didn’t work. Ginny jumped up immediately and shoved the book under her pillow.

“Hermione!” Ginny said. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to come to see if you’re ok. We haven’t been able to catch up lately,” Hermione said, inching her way into the room.

“I’m fine,” Ginny said quickly.

Hermione knew she was lying but didn’t want to push the issue. “Well, ok. I just wanted to check in with you. How have your classes been?”

“They’ve been ok, I guess,” Ginny said. 

Hermione perched herself on the corner of Ginny’s trunk. “Learn any good jinxes lately?” From Ginny’s letters, Hermione knew she had a particular affinity for hexes. She didn’t blame Ginny - with that many brothers, hexes would be necessary.

“I’ve been working on the knockback jinx a bit with a few of the Hufflepuffs,” Ginny said, cracking a smile. “And by working with them, I mean I am using them as my guinea pigs.”

Hermione giggled, though inwardly cringed at the blatant breaking of the rules. She had a feeling Ginny didn’t need to be reminded of the rules (like her brothers had to be); Ginny knew them but still chose to ignore them.

“So,” Hermione said, changing the subject. She had been making it a point to be less “judgemental” with her friends, just like Parvati had said. “Gryffindor. I guess that wasn’t much of a surprise being a Weasley and all.”

“Actually, the hat couldn’t make up its mind about what house it wanted to put me in,” Ginny said. 

“Really? The same thing happened to me too!” Hermione said. “But I didn’t want to be in Ravenclaw either. I wanted to be in Professor McGonagall’s house.”

“Oh, that’s neat.” 

An awkward silence fell over them. There were so many things Hermione wanted to say but fought the urge. She could tell Ginny really didn’t want to talk and had to respect that. 

“Ok, well, I’ll leave you to get back to writing in your diary,” Hermione said, standing up from the trunk. She tried not to take it personally when a relieved look crossed Ginny’s face. “She’s just worried about Mrs. Norris,” Hermione told herself as she walked back down the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor Common Room. It was one thing to think it but a totally different thing to believe it.

\-----

Some habits were hard to quit. Hermione kept replaying the conversation with Ginny over and over and kept getting more and more upset. The only thing that she found solace in were the thousands of pages of the books in the library. Thankfully, she had a clear subject to focus on and solve - the mysterious Chamber of Secrets - and threw herself into the task. Unfortunately, Hermione couldn’t find what she was looking for, and getting more and more frustrating. With every page she turned that didn’t contain the information, her anxiety rose.

Hermione was able to breeze through a three-foot-long composition on the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards due for the following History of Magic class with Professor Binns (she actually wrote four feet seven inches) and used the rest of the time in the library to continue her search. Harry and Ron had joined her but were focused on the essay instead of her research. She emerged from one of the stacks just as Harry measured his parchment.

“All the copies of  _ Hogwarts, A History _ have been taken out,” she said, sitting down next to Harry and Ron. “And there’s a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.”

“Why do you want it?” said Harry.

“The same reason everyone else wants it,” said Hermione, “to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What’s that?” said Harry quickly.

“That’s just it. I can’t remember,” said Hermione, biting her lip. “And I can’t find the story anywhere else —”

“Hermione, let me read your composition,” said Ron desperately, checking his watch.

“No, I won’t,” said Hermione. “You’ve had ten days to finish it.”

“I only need another two inches, come on —”

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering. In the back of her mind, however, she knew she needed an answer about the Chamber of Secrets sooner rather than later, or else her anxiety would completely overwhelm her.

For some reason unknown to Hermione, most of her classmates did not enjoy their History of Magic classes. Harry frequently complained about how boring Professor Binns was during his lessons, but Hermione just didn’t see it. Professor Binns was their only ghost teacher. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since. Hermione took pleasure in knowing exactly what to expect in his classes.

Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read today’s lesson. Hermione, however, couldn’t concentrate. The comfort she usually took in his monotone voice had been replaced with a dull hum that allowed the rest of her brain to tune out the lecture and, instead, obsess about the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione got more and more anxious by the minute. Finally, a half-hour into the lesson, she couldn’t take it any longer. She put her hand up in the air.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of his lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

“Miss — er — ?”

“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown’s head came up off her arms, and Neville Longbottom’s elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

“My subject is History of Magic,” he said. “I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —”

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione’s hand was waving in the air again. She wasn’t going to be brushed off so easily.

“Miss Grant?”

“Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

“Well,” said Professor Binns slowly, “Yes, one could argue that I suppose.” He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. “However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —”

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns’s every word. He looked dimly at them all. Every face turned to his. Hermione could tell such an unusual show of interest completely threw him.

“Oh, very well,” he said slowly. “Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued. Hermione was at the edge of her seat. The story was slowly coming back to her.

“For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Mudbloods. Like her. Like the ones the hat warned.

“Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” he said. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

“Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

There was silence as he finished telling the story. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

“The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course,” he said. “Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

Hermione’s hand was back in the air. She had more questions.

“Sir — what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?”

“That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control,” said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

“I tell you, the thing does not exist,” said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. “There is no Chamber and no monster.”

“But, sir,” said Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?”

“Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing —”

“But, Professor,” piped up Parvati, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —”

“Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —”

“But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t —” began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

“That will do,” he said sharply. “It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!”

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor. Hermione, however, couldn’t stop her thoughts from racing.

\-----

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Ron told Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. “But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I’d’ve got the train straight back home. …”

Hermione nodded fervently. As they were shunted along in the crowd, Colin Creevey went past.

“Hiya, Harry!”

“Hullo, Colin,” said Harry. Hermione had finally resigned to the fact that she didn’t exist to Colin if Harry was around.

“Harry — Harry — a boy in my class has been saying you’re —”

But Colin was so small he couldn’t fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, “See you, Harry!” and he was gone.

“What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione wondered.

“That I’m Slytherin’s heir, I expect,” said Harry with a frown.

“People here’ll believe anything,” said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned, and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

“D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Ron asked Hermione. 

“I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be — well — human.”

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message “The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.”

“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Ron muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. Hermione started to look around as well, even though she felt uneasy about “poking around” the scene of a crime. Movement near the window caught her eye.

“Scorch marks!” he said. “Here — and here —”

“Come and look at this!” said Hermione to Harry. “This is funny. …”

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione pointed at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” said Hermione wonderingly.

“No,” said Harry, “have you, Ron? Ron?”

Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run. 

“What’s up?” said Harry. 

“I — don’t — like — spiders,” said Ron tensely.

“I never knew that,” said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. “You’ve used spiders in Potions loads of times. …”

“I don’t mind them dead,” said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. “I just don’t like the way they move. …”

Hermione giggled. She couldn’t help it. She had never seen Ron so jumpy, and that, combined with her nervous energy, just gave her the worst case of the giggles.

“It’s not funny,” said Ron, fiercely. “If you must know when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick… You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and …”

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was still trying not to laugh as hard as she wanted to. 

“Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone’s mopped it up,” Harry said, changing the subject.

“It was about here,” said Ron, recovering enough to walk a few paces past Filch’s chair and pointing. “Level with this door.”

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned.

“What’s the matter?” said Harry.

“Can’t go in there,” said Ron gruffly. “That’s a girls’ toilet.”

“Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione, standing up and coming over. “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.” 

And ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, she opened the door.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it, she said, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?” Hermione flinched - she hoped Myrtle had forgiven her from the Deathday Party.

Harry and Ron came closer to look. Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

“This is a girls’ bathroom,” she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. “They’re not girls.”

“No,” Hermione agreed. “I just wanted to show them how — er — nice it is in here.” She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor. Maybe she was overselling it.

“Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouthed at Hermione.

“What are you whispering?” said Myrtle, staring at him.

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly. “We wanted to ask —”

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead —”

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione. “Harry only —”

“No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle. “My life was nothing but misery at this place, and now people come along ruining my death!”

“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”

“Did you see anyone near here that night?” said Harry.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m — that I’m —”

“Already dead,” said Ron helpfully. Hermione groaned. If there was any subject NOT to talk to Myrtle about, it was most assuredly that one.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. … Come on, let’s go.”

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.

“RON!”

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

“That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped. “What were you — ?”

“Just having a look around,” Ron shrugged. “Clues, you know —”

“Get — away — from — there —” Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner —” Suddenly, Hermione understood why Percy was so angry.

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. “Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”

“That’s what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled. I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first-years are thoroughly over-excited by this business —” Hermione gasped. She didn’t think Ginny was  _ that _ upset. And expelled?!

“You don’t care about Ginny,” said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy —”

“Five points from Gryffindor!” Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. “And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work or I’ll write to Mum!”

And he strode off, Hermione noticed the back of his neck was as red as Ron’s ears. 

\-----

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a terrible mood and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed  _ The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 _ shut. Hermione did the same. She just had to talk through the thoughts racing through her head.

“Who can it be, though?” she said in a quiet voice. “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?”

“Let’s think,” said Ron in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?”

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

“If you’re talking about Malfoy —”

“Of course I am!” said Ron. “You heard him — ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ — come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him —”

“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” said Hermione skeptically. She knew he was an awful human being but the Heir of Slytherin? She’d hate to give him that much credit.

“Look at his family,” said Harry, closing his books, too. “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough.”

“They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!” said Ron. “Handing it down, father to son. …”

“Well,” said Hermione cautiously, her mind following the boys at record speed. “I suppose it’s possible…”

“But how do we prove it?” said Harry darkly. Hermione took a few seconds to make sense of the lightning storm of thoughts in her head.

“There might be a way,” said Hermione slowly, forming the plan as she spoke. She dropped her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. “Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect —”

“If in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won’t you?” said Ron irritably. 

Hermione silenced him with a look and continued. “All right,” said Hermione coldly. “What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.”

“But that’s impossible,” Harry said as Ron laughed.

“No, it’s not,” said Hermione sternly. “All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.”

“What’s that?” said Ron and Harry together. Hermione rolled her eyes. If she weren’t so nervous about breaking so many rules, she’d probably have called them out on their oversight. 

“Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago —”

“D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?” muttered Ron. Hermione ignored him.

“It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it!” Hermione said, making a concerted effort to turn her growing anxiety into excitement to try such advanced magic. “We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He’s probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.”

“This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me,” said Ron, frowning. “What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?”

“It wears off after a while,” said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. “But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called  _ Moste Potente Potions, _ and it’s bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.”

There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.

“Hard to see why we’d want the book, really,” said Ron, “if we weren’t going to try and make one of the potions.”

“I think,” said Hermione, “that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance. …”

“Oh, come on, no teacher’s going to fall for that,” said Ron. “They’d have to be really thick…”

Ron was right. All of the professors were brilliant. There’d be no way…


	10. The Rogue Bludger

Hermione was having trouble sleeping. Her thoughts kept drifting during classes. Walking down the hallway, it seemed like all eyes were on her. She knew she was being paranoid, but Hermione couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling growing exponentially: she didn’t really fit in after all.

The word “Mudblood” haunted her. Just as Harry heard the mysterious whispering voice that no one else could hear, Hermione heard that word around every corner, whispered in every group. She felt singled out. Watched.

Hermione even found herself not putting her hand up as much as usual in classes. Before, she had been proud to stand out academically but, now, there was a tiny, yet growing, ball of fear to call any attention to herself. The more she read and studied the Chamber of Secrets, the more the fear and anxiety grew. 

She still, however, looked forward to Defence Against The Dark Arts. She was able to stop (or at least slow down) her thoughts by just watching Lockhart teach. She hated to admit it (especially to Ron), but his looks made her forget what was going on at the school. She could just lose herself in his eyes. Unfortunately, looking into those eyes made it more and more apparent that Ron was probably right when he said Lockhart was thick enough to write them the note for the Restricted Section.

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought any live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him. 

Harry was brought to the front of the class during their very next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. Hermione knew Harry absolutely dreaded being pulled up in front of the class and had to suppress her giggles… and suppress a small pang of jealousy, of course, for being the star of Lockhart’s attention like that.

“Nice loud howl, Harry — exactly — and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus — with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm — he let out a piteous moan — go on, Harry — higher than that — good — the fur vanished — the fangs shrank — and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective — and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.”

The bell rang, and Lockhart got to his feet.

“Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!”

The class began to leave. Hermione’s heart started to pound. She knew she had to go through with the plan, but she felt frozen. Not only was she intimidated by talking to Lockhart, but she was also terrified to follow through with a plan that was against so many rules. It was one thing to talk about the plan, but it was a totally different thing to do it.

“Ready?” Harry muttered.

“Wait till everyone’s gone,” said Hermione nervously. “All right …”

She approached Lockhart’s desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her.

“Er — Professor Lockhart?” Hermione stammered. Her anxiety was out of control. She felt the words bubbling out of her mouth and tried to remember the script she had memorized. “I wanted to — to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading.” She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. “But the thing is, it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it — I’m sure it would help me understand what you say in  _ Gadding with Ghouls _ about slow-acting venoms —”

“Ah,  _ Gadding with Ghouls _ !” said Lockhart, taking Hermione’s note and smiling widely at her. “Possibly my very favourite book. You enjoyed it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione eagerly. His eyes completely disarmed her. He was looking at her! He was noticing her! “So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea-strainer —”

“Well, I’m sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help,” said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. Hermione almost fainted right then and there. It was all just too much. “Yes, nice, isn’t it?” he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron’s face. “I usually save it for book signings.”

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione. His fingers brushed hers, and an electric shock traveled up her arm and into her head. Her ears started to buzz. 

“So, Harry,” said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. She could barely hear what he was saying over the sound in her ears. “Tomorrow’s the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you’re a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don’t hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players.”

Ron was pushing Hermione out of the classroom by that point. She didn’t even hear Harry’s answer. All she could think about was how Lockhart had called her the best student of the year. She wasn’t the “Mudblood” at that moment - she was the best student of the year. 

“I don’t believe it,” Harry said when he met them in the hallway, examining the signature on the note. “He didn’t even look at the book we wanted.”

“That’s because he’s a brainless git,” said Ron. “But who cares, we’ve got what we needed —”

“He is not a brainless git,” said Hermione shrilly as they half-ran toward the library. She would NOT let Ron ruin that moment for her.

“Just because he said you were the best student of the year —” She silenced him with the meanest look she could muster.

They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. 

“ _ Moste Potente Potions _ ?” Madam Pince, the librarian, repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn’t let go. To her, the note would be a constant reminder of what had just happened. 

“I was wondering if I could keep it,” she said breathlessly.

“Oh, come on,” said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. “We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.” If they hadn’t been standing in front of the strict librarian, Hermione would have hit him.

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later, carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag, and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Myrtle’s bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron’s objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they ignored her, and she, them (which was perfectly fine with Hermione).

Hermione opened _ Moste Potente Potions _ carefully, and the three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations (which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head).

“Here it is,” said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed  _ The Polyjuice Potion _ . It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Their pained faces terrified her, so she poured all of her attention to the ingredient list instead.

“This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen,” said Hermione as she scanned the recipe. “Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass,” she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. “Well, they’re easy enough. They’re in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves. … Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn — don’t know where we’re going to get that — shredded skin of a boomslang — that’ll be tricky, too — and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into.”

“Excuse me?” said Ron sharply. “What d’you mean, a bit of whoever we’re changing into? I’m drinking nothing with Crabbe’s toenails in it —”

Hermione continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “We don’t have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last. …”

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry.

“D’you realize how much we’re going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that’s definitely not in the students’ cupboard. What’re we going to do, break into Snape’s private stores? I don’t know if this is a good idea. …”

Hermione shut the book with a snap. Oh, so  _ now _ Harry realized how dangerous this plan was? She had been saying how dangerous it was all along. But didn’t he understand what was at stake? If anything, the danger made Hermione’s resolve even stronger. Having a clear path to finding out definitively whether or not Draco was the Heir of Slytherin brought a certain amount of comfort to Hermione, and she wasn’t about to let the boys drop out now.

“Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine,” she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks, and her eyes were brighter than usual. “I don’t want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don’t want to find out if it’s Malfoy, I’ll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in —”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be persuading us to break rules,” said Ron. “All right, we’ll do it. But no toenails, okay?”

“How long will it take to make, anyway?” said Harry as Hermione opened the book again. 

“Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days … I’d say it’d be ready in about a month if we can get all the ingredients.”

“A month?” said Ron. “Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!” But Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.” 

Hermione nodded her approval and made sure the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom. She didn’t want Percy or anyone else being suspicious of them, especially now that their plan was being set into motion.

\-----

Hermione had laid out a detailed, multi-stepped plan in order to get each ingredient, but Harry and Ron didn’t seem very impressed. Both were preoccupied with the upcoming Quidditch match against Slytherin. Hermione let herself get pulled into the growing anticipation for the game (mostly because some parts of her plan couldn’t be started until after the game that weekend). 

Hermione spent an extra few minutes that morning in her room, allowing Parvati to “accessorize” her outfit to show her house pride. Once she had enough “Gryffindor Spirit” according to Parvati, Hermione found a seat next to Ron and Neville in the Great Hall to grab some breakfast. Harry had woke early and headed down to the Quidditch Pitch with Fred, George, Oliver, and the other members of the Gryffindor team.

“I hope Harry just knocks Malfoy off his broom,” Ron said in between bites of his waffles. “Then we won’t have to drink toenails.”

“Ssshhh,” Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and shot a look over toward Neville. Thankfully, he hadn’t heard. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“Sod off,” Ron said, rubbing his side. “It’s too loud in here for anyone to have heard me.”

Ron was right - the excitement of the match had created a cacophony of sounds in the Great Hall. Everyone was anxiously talking about the game in raised voices that echoed throughout the hall. 

As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms. They watched him disappear inside and then went to find a good seat. In front of them, Hermione noticed Parvati and Justin sitting together and holding hands. It made her smile.

Before they knew it, the Gryffindors walked out onto the field. As they entered, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three … two … one …”

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them. Hermione could hardly keep track of him. 

A green blur crossed her line of sight. Malfoy. Hermione scowled at him even though she knew it was impossible for him to see her. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward Harry; Hermione gasped as he narrowly dodged him.

Thankfully, one of the twins (she had a hard enough time telling them apart even when they were on the ground in close proximity) flew towards Harry and, acting as the Beater, knocked the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Inexplicitly, the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again. Hermione and the rest of the crowd gasped. She didn’t even realize she had grabbed onto Ron’s hand. All eyes and all thoughts were on Harry.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and the Weasley beater managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry’s head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the field. The Bludger was whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible. …

The other Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. The crowd watched as Harry ducked as he swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course. Just as Hermione started to let out a sigh of relief, the Bludger swung back around as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry.

At some point, it had begun to rain. Also, at some point, the Slytherins had scored 60 points. Hermione and the majority of the crowd hadn’t noticed either of those things. Their focus was entirely on the insanity happening over their heads with Harry and the Bludger. There were a group of Gryffindor fans trying to get Madam Hooch’s attention so she could pause the game. Obviously, there was something wrong with the Bludger. It had to have been tampered with. 

Finally, with the help of the crowd waving their arms, Oliver Wood managed to get Madam Hooch’s attention. Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out, and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.

Hermione watched as the team met briefly on the pitch. To her surprise, the team flew back to their original positions after a moment. Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, and the game resumed. “What are they doing?” Hermione screamed. “Why didn’t they tell Madam Hooch to end the game?”

“That’d mean they’d forfeit the game,” Ron explained.

“So?”

“If they forfeit,” Ron said, “That means Gryffindor loses the game, and Slytherin wins.”

“So?!” Hermione said again, incredulously. “Harry’s safety matters more than some stupid Quidditch game!”

“But it’s against Slytherin,” Ron said with a confused look on his face. 

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to the game, terrified of what she’d see.

Hermione watched Harry kick hard into the air on Madam Hooch’s whistle, and the Bludger quickly followed suit. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. He hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. Harry began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where a Slytherin player was trying to score past Wood —

Hermione gasped as the Bludger had just missed Harry again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction. Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger.

A flash of green pulled Hermione’s eyes from the bludger to Draco Malfoy flying past Harry. It looked to her like Malfoy had seen the Golden Snitch. After all of his, if the Slytherins won… Hermione couldn’t even finish the thought. A sickening WHACK echoed through the pitch.

The Bludger had finally found its mark. Harry’s arm bore the brunt of the attack. Hermione could tell Harry was in pain. His right arm was just hanging down at his side. Nonetheless, Harry was still going after the snitch. Through a haze of rain, Hermione watched Harry dive past Draco with his other arm outstretched. And then he started to fall. And fall. And fall.

With a splattering thud, Harry hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle, but the Snitch was clutched in his good hand. 

A roar went up through the crowd, though Hermione stayed silent, watching Harry on the muddy ground. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he limply fell back to the ground.

He had fainted.

Next to her, Ron was cheering with the rest of the crowd. She grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him out of his seat and towards the stairs. Hermione had to get to the pitch to make sure Harry was ok. She nearly tripped over Colin, who was doing the same. 

“Colin, move!” Hermione said.

They rushed past him and onto the pitch where a crowd of professors and fellow Gryffindors had already started to gather. Hermione pushed her way through the crowd as close to Harry as she and Ron could get. Harry appeared to be starting to gain consciousness as Professor Lockhart leaned over him.

“Oh, no, not you,” Harry moaned.

“Doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. “Not to worry, Harry. I’m about to fix your arm.”

“No!” said Harry. “I’ll keep it like this, thanks…” A clicking sound interrupted Harry. Hermione turned to see Colin right behind her. “I don’t want a photo of this, Colin,” Harry said loudly.

“Lie back, Harry,” said Lockhart soothingly. “It’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times —”

“Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing?” said Harry through clenched teeth.

“He should really, Professor,” said a muddy Wood, who couldn’t help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. “Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I’d say —”

“Stand back,” said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

“No — don’t —” said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry’s arm.

Hermione watched as purple sparks flew out of Lockhart’s wand. They matched his robes, she noticed, briefly, before her attention was turned back to Harry. A gasp rippled through the crowd as Harry’s arm seemed to melt right before their eyes. Colin started clicking the shutter faster and faster. Lockhart was obstructing her view of Harry, and she couldn’t tell what was wrong.

Gilderoy Lockhart stood up and cleared his throat. “Ah,” said Lockhart. “Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That’s the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing — ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? — and Madam Pomfrey will be able to — er — tidy you up a bit.”

Hermione finally got her first view of Harry. To her absolute horror, he looked strangely lopsided. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-coloured rubber glove. 

Lockhart hadn’t mended Harry’s bones. He had removed them.

\-----

Madam Pomfrey wasn’t at all pleased. Frankly, Hermione couldn’t blame her, though a mistake was a mistake after all.

“You should have come straight to me!” she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. “I can mend bones in a second — but growing them back —”

“You will be able to, won’t you?” said Harry desperately.

“I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. “You’ll have to stay the night. …”

Hermione waited outside the curtain partition drawn around Harry’s bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.

“How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?” Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry’s limp fingers through the cuff. “If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” said Hermione. “And it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it, Harry?”

“No,” said Harry, getting into bed. “But it doesn’t do anything else either.”

As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly.

Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.

“You’re in for a rough night,” she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. “Regrowing bones is a nasty business.”

Harry choked down the liquid, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.

“We won, though,” said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. “That was some catch you made. Malfoy’s face… he looked ready to kill…”

“I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,” said Hermione darkly.

“We can add that to the list of questions we’ll ask him when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,” said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. “I hope it tastes better than this stuff. …”

“If it’s got bits of Slytherins in it? You’ve got to be joking,” said Ron.

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.

“Unbelievable flying, Harry,” said George. “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.”

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry’s bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, “This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!”


	11. The Dueling Club

Harry’s arm bones (or lack thereof) were the talk of the school that evening and through to the next morning. After being kicked out of the Hospital Wing by Madam Pomfrey, Hermione and Ron made plans to meet at eight o’clock the following day and be there when Harry got released. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to regrow thirty-three bones and hoped Harry got a decent night’s sleep despite the presumed pain.

Hermione was down in the Gryffindor Common Room at precisely half-past seven. Unsurprisingly, Ron wasn’t there. Hermione thought she was going to be late - when she got up to take a shower, she found it already occupied. After a remarkably long time, Ginny finally emerged wrapped in a plush red towel. She looked as though she didn’t get any sleep that night and walked right past Hermione as if she didn’t see her. Hermione realized Ginny was probably worried about Harry and hoped she was going back to bed to get some rest. She vowed to make a point to remember to check on Ginny later that afternoon.

Eight o’clock came quickly. Hermione decided to give Ron ten more minutes before she went up to his dormitory and woke him up herself. She watched the minutes tick by on the antique oak grandfather clock in the corner of the room. At 8:09 am, Hermione sighed and started to make her way up the curved boys’ dormitory staircase. Near the top, she ran into the red-headed boy she had been coming to wake up.

“What ‘er you doin’ up here?” Ron said, his eyes still full of sleep. “I was just comin’ down.”

“You were late,” Hermione said. She turned around and started back down the steps.

“Was not.”

“What do you mean you’re not late? It’s ten minutes after eight. We agreed on eight.”

“Late is like a half-hour,” Ron said, stopping on the last step. “Honestly, woman, a few minutes isn’t going to hurt anyone.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and made a beeline for the portrait door. She didn’t even turn back to see if Ron was following her. “Let’s just go see Harry, shall we?” They had barely spent five minutes together, and already she was annoyed. It was going to be a long day.

She climbed out of the Common Room and down the stairs with Ron close behind. The staircase started moving (as it frequently did), and it actually let them off closer to their destination than Hermoine had expected. The pair walked in silence down the corridor toward the wide white doors of the hospital wing. Just as they were about to round the corner, however, Hermione heard voices. She stopped dead in her tracks and held a hand up to stop Ron. He wasn’t paying attention (no surprise) and walked right into Hermione.

“Watch out, ‘Mione,” Ron exclaimed.

“Shut up,” Hermione hissed. “Listen.”

They were silent except for Hermione’s beating heart. Then, out of the silence, the voices resumed. Unless Hermione was mistaken, the voices sounded as if they belonged to none other than Professors McGonagall and Flitwick.

“What did you want to see me about?” squeaked the voice of the Charms teacher. 

“There has been another attack, Filius,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “This time, a student. One of mine. Colin Creevery.” Hermione gasped and covered her mouth to try to capture the sound.

“Creevery? I was his special messenger this year,” Professor Flitwick said sadly.

“Yes, the very one.

“Oh my goodness,” Professor Flitwick said. “Do you know what happened?”

“I found him late last night on the staircase. I think he was coming to visit Potter in the Hospital Wing,” she answered and took a deep breath. “Completely petrified, just like Filch’s cat.”

“It could have been worse, I suppose,” Flitwick said sadly.

“Yes, much,” McGonagall agreed. “But I was hoping since you know his family from the summer, you could help me break the news to them.”

“Oh yes, certainly,” squeaked Flitwick. “Whatever needs to happen. I am at your service.”

“Thank you, Filius. I appreciate it, and I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Creevery will appreciate seeing a familiar face when they get the news. They’re this way.”

Hermione listened as the professors’ footsteps receded down the hallway in the opposite direction and turned to face Ron. All of the lingering sleep had disappeared from his eyes, and his face had begun to turn red.

“Colin’s been petrified too?!” Ron asked, though it was more of a statement. “Blimey. This is getting serious.”

“We need to finish that potion,” Hermione said, starting off down the corridor opposite the Hospital Wing toward Myrtle’s bathroom. She tried not to let her thoughts spiral entirely out of control. Colin. A muggle. Attacked. Things were escalating much too quickly.

Ron quickly followed her. As they neared the entrance, Hermione snuck ahead to make sure the coast was clear and then waved Ron to join her.

Not three steps into the bathroom, Hermione and Ron were met with Myrtle flying in their path. “Oh, it’s you two. Where’s your other friend,”

“Never you mind, Myrtle,” said Hermione. She didn’t have time to walk on eggshells around Myrtle today. There were much bigger things to worry about. “We’re in a hurry here.”

Myrtle stuck her hands on her hips in defiance and didn’t move. Hermione took a deep breath and barged right through Myrtle’s body. An icy cold washed over her, but it only lasted a moment. Myrtle let out an ear-piercing wail and dove into the nearest stall to cry loudly.

Ron shook his head in wonderment. “Women,” he said.

Hermione flashed him a look. “What about women, Ronald?” she challenged him.

Ron’s face flushed. “Nothing,” he stammered and followed Hermione over to their makeshift potions laboratory in one of the stalls. “Though,” he said, pressing his luck after a few moments. “You have to admit we wouldn’t have heard about Colin if I hadn’t been a few minutes late.”

The stoned face look Hermione gave him almost was enough to petrify the youngest Weasley son. Ron clamped his mouth shut and didn’t utter another word. 

Hermione went to work at once. “Caeruleus Ignis,” she muttered, and a bright blue flame shot out of her wand to the basin of the toilet. The bluebell flame charm was one of her favourites and certainly one of the most versatile. The flames were bright blue in appearance and were waterproof. Not as dangerous as a real fire, the magical flames could be touched, penetrated, and held without it burning the holder, though it was known to singe materials such as clothing and plants. As such, it might be safely carried in small objects, such as a jar, without the object being damaged (As Hermione had learned to do last year). These unique flames could also be directed to a desired location by its caster, and return to its original position. 

Ron’s face brightened in the vivid blue light, and he grinned. “Wicked,” he muttered, but another look from Hermione made him fall silent again. She placed the caldron upon the toilet and got to work.

Ron, smartly, remained silent until a noise startled them both about twenty minutes later. “Someone’s coming,” Ron whispered sharply and hurriedly helped Hermione push their ingredients out of the open sightline to the door. They both jumped into the closest empty stall and shut the door as silently as they could.

Hermione’s heart was pounding, and so was Ron’s. The stall was so cramped. She could feel his heavy breathing against her. She held her breath, silently willing Ron to do the same. Thankfully, Ron got the message. The seconds ticked by like hours. She tried to peer out the keyhole.

“It’s me,” came Harry’s voice. Both she and Ron let out their breath.

“Harry!” she said. “You gave us such a fright — come in — how’s your arm?”

“Fine,” said Harry, squeezing into the stall. 

“We’d’ve come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion,” Ron explained as Harry, with difficulty, locked the stall again. “We’ve decided this is the safest place to hide it.”

“So you’ll never believe this,” Harry said. “A student was petrified last night--”

Hermione cut him off. “We already know — we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning. That’s why we decided we’d better get going —”

“The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better,” snarled Ron. “D’you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin.”

“There’s something else,” said Harry, as Hermione tore bundles of knotgrass and threw them into the potion. “Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night.”

Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed.

“Oh?” Hermione said. 

“Yeah. He was real dodgy. Talking in code again,” Harry said. “Found out it was him who stopped the barrier at Kings Cross from letting us through, though. And he made the Bludger go rogue at the match.”

“The bloody git!” exclaimed Ron. “Mum ought to have sent him the Howler.”

“You deserved that Howler, and you know it, Ronald,” Hermione said. “You stole your father’s car, for goodness sake!”

“Anyways,” Harry said, trying to dispel the tensions. “He let it slip that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before! But then he shut up real quick when I started asking him questions.”

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?” Hermione said, flabbergasted.

“This settles it,” said Ron in a triumphant voice. “Lucius Malfoy must’ve opened the Chamber when he was at school here, and now he’s told dear old Draco how to do it. It’s obvious. Wish Dobby’d told you what kind of monster’s in there, though. I want to know how come nobody’s noticed it sneaking around the school.”

“Maybe it can make itself invisible,” said Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. “Or maybe it can disguise itself — pretend to be a suit of armor or something — I’ve read about Chameleon Ghouls —”

“You read too much, Hermione,” said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked at Harry. She turned away before he could see her tears.

“So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm…” He shook his head. “You know what, Harry? If he doesn’t stop trying to save your life, he’s going to kill you.”

\-----

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was thick with rumor and suspicion. The first-years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone. Likewise, Hermione found herself staying as close as possible to Harry and Ron when they walked the halls.

Hermione never did get a chance to check in with Ginny Sunday evening. She, Ron, and Harry stayed in the bathroom for hours, not emerging until it was almost time to go to bed, and she just didn’t get a chance to on Monday. George and Fred, however, found the time to try to cheer Ginny up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pureblood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

“They went for Filch first,” Neville said, his round face fearful. “And everyone knows I’m almost a Squib.”

Hermione’s fear continued to grow.

\-----

In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall came around, as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Hermione had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays when she settled on the Polyjuice Potion plan. Her parents were not the least bit happy about it, but Hermione grimly justified it in her head: surely, they’d much rather miss one Christmas with her than all of them, which would happen if the Heir of Slytherin killed her (but she, of course, didn’t tell Mary and Bert this). She’d send them the presents she had ordered for them and hoped they wouldn’t be too cross or disappointed.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying as well, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half-finished. They still needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape’s private stores. Instead of focusing and obsessing about the hundreds of rules they’d be breaking, Hermione threw all of her energy into the plan. The more she could obsess about the finer details of the scheme, the less time her head had to completely be overrun with anxiety. There was absolutely no room for emotion right now. Her life literally depended on it.

“What we need,” said Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon’s double Potions lesson loomed nearer, “is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape’s office and take what we need.”

Harry and Ron looked at her nervously.

“I think I’d better do the actual stealing,” Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “You two will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I’ve got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.” She ignored Harry’s feeble smile. Certainly, the “boy who lived” could manage to distract a teacher for five minutes when her life was on the line.

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon’s class proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. 

Hermione waited for the perfect time to give Harry the signal. When Snape turned his bullying toward Neville, Hermione caught Harry’s eye and nodded. She watched as Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred’s Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle’s cauldron.

Goyle’s potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful, and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate — Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. In the confusion, Hermione slipped quietly into Snape’s office.

“Silence! SILENCE!” She heard Snape roar. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught — when I find out who did this —”

But Hermione stopped listening. She had a job to do. She fought the burning anxiety coursing through her body and forced herself to keep moving. If she stopped, Hermione was sure she’d freeze up in complete terror. She rushed to the storeroom and pulled out her wand. 

“Lumos,” she muttered. The tip of her wand burned bright white. The light would have helped Hermione see the names of the ingredients written on the shelves if her wand hand wasn’t shaking so violently. Hermione forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. Her hand steadied. She held it out again, looking at the names. Luckily for her, Professor Snape was extremely particular about his ingredients, and they were lined in alphabetical order. Hermione easily located the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin and shoved them beneath her robes.

Hermione ran back to the door to the classroom that she had left ajar and peered through the crack. Half the class was lining up at Snape’s desk - some weighted down with arms like clubs and others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips - awaiting the antidote from a harried Snape. Hermione seized her chance and snuck back into the dungeons without catching the eye of the professor. Harry winked at her. Against all odds, she had done it.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote, and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle’s cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape whispered, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.”

“He knew it was me,” Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried back to Myrtle’s bathroom. “I could tell.”

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly.

“It’ll be ready in two weeks,” she said happily.

“Snape can’t prove it was you,” said Ron reassuringly to Harry. “What can he do?”

“Knowing Snape, something foul,” said Harry as the potion frothed and bubbled.

\-----

A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest. “Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Hermione as they went in to dinner. “Shall we go?”

Hermione and Harry were both in agreement, so they hurried back to the Great Hall at eight o’clock that evening. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. She had allowed herself to get slightly excited about the whole ordeal, which was a nice break from the constant worry she had been dealing with. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young — maybe it’ll be him.”

“As long as it’s not —” Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat despite everything. 

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry — you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear, but loud enough for Hermione to hear. She elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. Hermione wished she had brought a quill to take notes. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. Hermione gasped and looked at Snape. He wouldn’t, would he?

“One — two — three —”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light, and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers.

“Who cares?” said Harry and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off, and his wavy hair was standing on end.

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I’ve lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see …”

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me —”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.

“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” he sneered. “Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter —”

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.

“I don’t think so,” said Snape, smiling coldly. “Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger — you can partner Miss Bulstrode.” 

The absolute last thing Hermione wanted to do as a Muggle was to go against a Slytherin in a duel, especially a Slytherin known for being a proud pureblood. She finally understood Harry’s absolute loathing for Professor Snape. He paired her up with Millicent on purpose and entirely out of spite. There was no other reason.

Since Hermione didn’t trust herself to look at Snape any longer without giving him a look no one should give to a professor, she turned her attention to Millicent. She was large and square, and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform. “And bow!”

Hermione and Millicent barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other. Hermione’s anxiety was starting to bubble up.

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don’t want any accidents — one … two … three —”

Hermione pointed her wand and shouted “Expelliarmus” to disarm Millicent. Hermione watched as Millicent’s wand flew out of her chubby hands to the floor with a bit of pleasure. Hermione smiled despite herself. 

Smiling, however, was not the smartest thing Hermione could have done at that moment. Millicent, in utter rage, took off like an American Football player directly at Hermione. Before Hermione could dart out of the way, all two hundred pounds of the pureblood Slytherin had landed a direct blow. Both girls tumbled to the ground.

“You filthy Mudblood,” Millicent sneered. Hermione recoiled in terror. 

“I said disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm. 

Millicent pinned Hermione to the floor. She could hardly move under her weight. She felt Millicent shift and then suddenly found herself in a headlock. Hermione whimpered in pain and sheer terror. She couldn’t breathe. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry leap forward and try to pull Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than he was. Finally, Harry succeeded, and Hermione could breathe. She put her hand to her throat and tried to catch her breath. She was shaking so hard. Harry put a comforting arm around her. The shock made the next few minutes seem like a hazy dream.

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done. “Up you go, Macmillan… Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot — I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and glanced away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.”

Neville’s round, pink face went pinker. “How about Malfoy and Potter?” said Snape with a twisted smile. Hermione felt Harry stiffen next to her.

“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room. Ron took Harry’s place next to Hermione. She leaned into Ron’s shoulder. He smelled of spearmint toothpaste. She still felt dizzy and dazed, but tried to focus.

“Now, Harry,” said Lockhart. “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops — my wand is a little overexcited —”

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, “Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?”

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”

“What, drop my wand?”

But Lockhart wasn’t listening. Hermione wanted to bury her head into Ron’s shoulder but couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Three — two — one — go!” he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!”

The end of his wand exploded. Hermione watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between Harry and Draco, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it. …”

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake, and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. 

The snake hovered, swaying back and forth, getting ready to strike. Hermione couldn’t look. She finally succumbed to the urge to put her head into Ron’s shoulder and waited for the screams of terror when the snake finally struck its victim. Instead, another sound made her whip her head back up: a strange, snakelike whisper.

As she searched for the source of the bizarre sound, her eyes landed on Harry. He was walking directly toward the snake which still had its eyes on Justin, making the strange noises. It looked as if Harry were having a conversation with the Snake. It was one of the most disturbing things Hermione had ever seen in her life.

The snake kept getting closer and closer to Justin, rising further and further in the air. Harry kept whispering gibberish at it, seemingly commanding it forward. Just as it was about to strike, the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry, watching his every mood. 

Justin jumped backward in shock. His fear quickly turned to anger. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. There ominous muttering all around the walls. The students had come to life again now the danger was gone… and there were a lot of eyes on Harry.

“Oh bloody hell,” Ron muttered, reading the room. “We’ve got to get him before the mob does.” He pulled Hermione towards Harry and tugged on the back of his robes. “Come on,” said Ron. “Move — come on —”

Ron steered Harry out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside them. She was too exhausted to do anything but let Ron lead the way. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Ron dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor Common Room and then forcefully pushed Harry into an armchair. He said, “You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m a what?” said Harry.

Hermione had heard that term - Parselmouth - before, but, in her brain fog, she couldn’t quite place it. 

“A Parselmouth!” said Ron. “You can talk to snakes!” 

That jogged Hermione’s memory… though she wished it hadn’t. Her stomach dropped like lead. 

“I know,” said Harry. “I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once — long story — but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to — that was before I knew I was a wizard —”

“A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” Ron repeated faintly.

“So?” said Harry. “I bet loads of people here can do it.”

“Oh, no they can’t,” said Ron. “It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.”

“What’s bad?” said Harry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin —”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?”

“What d’you mean? You were there — you heard me —”

“I heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Ron. “Snake language. You could have been saying anything — no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something — it was creepy, you know —”

Harry gaped at him.

“I spoke a different language? But — I didn’t realize — how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”

Ron shook his head. 

“D’you want to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin’s head?” he said. “What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn’t have to join the Headless Hunt?”

“It matters,” said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice. She felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t look at Harry. Instead, she looked down and picked hairs off of her jumper. “Because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Exactly,” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something —”

“But I’m not,” said Harry, with a panic he couldn’t quite explain.

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”

\-----

By next morning, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so crucial for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry wouldn’t stop talking about Justin and what he must think about him next to the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess.

“For heaven’s sake, Harry,” said Hermione, exasperated, as one of Ron’s bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. “Go and find Justin if it’s so important to you.” 

She realized, after Harry had left, she had probably been unfairly short with him. Hermione hadn’t slept well the night before. She tossed and turned, her thoughts crashing around like symbols in her head: the remote possibility of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin; the hatred in Millicent’s whisper; the danger of Polyjuice Potion; the fear of being expelled for their plan; the terror of knowing she was being singled out because of her heritage.

When Hermione had found out she was a witch, she had been terrified that people would treat her differently because she was “behind” by eleven years. Now her fears were coming true.

“Checkmate,” Ron said smugly, leaning back in his chair. Hermione hadn’t really been paying attention to the game. She glanced at the board. She had lost horrendously. Nonplussed, Hermione shrugged and decided to go back up to her room to lie down. 

As she walked up the spiral staircase, Ginny was on her way down. Hermione managed a smile. “Hey, Ginny!” she said with as much excitement as she could muster. Ginny was upset enough without Hermione’s baggage. 

At the sound of Hermione’s voice, Ginny’s eyes went wide. She froze mid step and glared at Hermione with an undeniable hatred and disgust. Hermione was taken so aback she nearly fell down the stairs. The two (former?) friends just stood there, staring at each other. Hermione’s thoughts began to race. The Weasleys were purebloods. Did Ginny secretly think she was just a Mudblood too?

The thought was too much for Hermione. She took off past Ginny (who leaned into the wall so they wouldn’t touch) and up the rest of the steps to her room. She threw open the door and dove at her bed, sobbing. Everything started bubbling to the surface, and Hermione found it hard to breathe. The panic attack was out in full force.

It took almost an hour for Hermione to breathe naturally again. She had forced herself to bring out all of Lockhart’s books and try to cross-reference them. The painstaking, meticulous process helped Hermione substitute her crashing thoughts with something more concrete to focus on. She found quite a few inconsistencies but blamed them on her emotional state.

Hermione put the books down and tried to close her eyes for a bit. She was exhausted. Just as she started to doze off, she heard the door to her room open. Hermione opened an eye. It was Parvati. She was crying. 

“Oh, sorry,” Parvati said. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“It’s ok,” Hermione said, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s wrong,” Parvati snapped. 

Hermione flinched. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Your little boyfriend,” Parvati spat. “The Heir of Slytherin.”

“You mean Harry? He’s not--”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Parvati wailed. “Justin said to me, ‘Parv, I know I shouldn’t have let it slip I was a Muggle-born.’ But he did, and now he’s Petrified too!”

“What?!” Hermione gasped. Another attack?!

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. You probably helped Potter plan it.”

“Parvati -- No -- I--”

“Save it,” Parvati said and shut the curtains on her bed, essentially ending the conversation. Her muffled cries could still be heard.

Hermione was numb.


	12. The Polyjuice Potion

When Hermione finally emerged from her room, she found out the full story. Harry had gone to find Justin to apologize for any misunderstandings during the Dueling Club but, instead, was the one who found him petrified. Floating next to him was Sir Nicholas, also petrified. Found (once again) at the scene of the crime, Harry was (once again) accused, and Professor McGonagall took him to Dumbledore’s office.

Dumbledore, apparently, didn’t suspect Harry but was adamant Harry knew something about the attacks. “I kept thinking about Malfoy saying, ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods’ and that voice I kept hearing, but I kept my mouth shut,” Harry said. “We don’t know enough yet. Maybe after the Polyjuice potion.”

Hermione kind of wished Harry  _ had _ told Dumbledore everything, including their plan with the Polyjuice Potion (even if it got her in trouble for stealing from Snape). She was afraid time was running out. But, Harry had not, and the Polyjuice was the only hope Hermione allowed herself to have to figure everything out. 

Hermione wasn’t the only person feeling the stress of the Chamber of Secrets. The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into a real panic. There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate that seemed to worry people most. ‘What could possibly do that to a ghost?’ people asked each other; ‘what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead?’ Hermione, likewise, found it quite peculiar. She believed Sir Nicholas was a giant clue to the whole puzzle, but she couldn’t figure out where it fit. Hermione forced herself to believe that it would all come together after they took the Polyjuice Potion.

“At this rate, we’ll be the only ones left,” Ron told Harry and Hermione as they watched the line of students file past them to sign up to go home. “Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be.” Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. 

Harry was constantly being harassed in the corridors: people muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed. Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through. …”

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

“It is not a laughing matter,” he said coldly.

“Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.”

“Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” said George, chortling.

Ginny didn’t find it amusing either. Hermione hadn’t told anyone about their encounter on the steps. It still hurt too much.

“Oh, don’t,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met. Their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

“It’s because he’s bursting to say it’s really him,” said Ron knowingly. “You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you’re getting all the credit for his dirty work.”

“Not for long,” said Hermione in a satisfied tone. “The Polyjuice Potion’s nearly ready. We’ll be getting the truth out of him any day now.”

\-----

At last, the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. With most of the students home for the Christmas Holidays, Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Instead of a calm quiet with the lack of students, the Weasleys decided it was a great time to play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone and practice dueling in private.

Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior, didn’t spend much time in the Gryffindor Common Room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time. Hermione secretly agreed with him but didn’t say anything.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Instead of being warm and cozy in her bed, Hermione was already in the bathroom tending to the potion. All of her roommates had gone home for the holiday, and Hermione found their absence disconcerting. Every noise was Slytherin’s monster coming to get her. It was, quite frankly, more relaxing to be in a dank bathroom than the Gryffindor dormitories at this point. 

However, around seven in the morning, Hermione found herself racing back to the dorms. Hermione burst into Harry and Ron’s room, carrying presents for them both. The gifts weren’t much, but Hermione was hoping to take advantage of the traditions of Christmas to help her get her mind off things. 

“Wake up,” she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.

“Hermione — you’re not supposed to be in here —” said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” said Hermione, throwing him his present. “I’ve been up for nearly an hour, adding more lace-wings to the potion. It’s ready.”

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Hermione, shirting Scabbers, the rat, so that she could sit down on the end of Ron’s four-poster. “If we’re going to do it, I say it should be tonight.”

\-----

No one could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts. It was Hermione’s first, and even her feelings of impending doom couldn’t ruin the pure joy and goodwill dancing in the air.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favourite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn’t noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read “Pin-head,” kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. 

As the hours progressed (and as Draco Malfoy got more and more obnoxious talking about all of his expensive gifts), the magic of the day started to fade. Hermione was once again obsessing about their upcoming plan. The hairs she had compulsively picked off her jumper after her fight with Millicent were what Hermione was going to use to transform into the Slytherin bully. Hermione shuddered at the thought, but it was the only way - Millicent had gone home for the holidays, so there was no chance of her running into her doppelganger. It’d be a bit more difficult for Ron and Harry. After a considerable amount of planning, she finally had an idea. She rushed off to prepare before rounding up the boys. 

Harry and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.

“We still need a bit of the people you’re changing into,” said Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. “And obviously, it’ll be best if you can get something of Crabbe’s and Goyle’s; they’re Malfoy’s best friends, he’ll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can’t burst in on us while we’re interrogating him.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry’s and Ron’s stunned faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. “I’ve filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are. They’re bound to eat them. Once they’re asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet.”

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

“Hermione, I don’t think —”

“That could go seriously wrong —”

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye, not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.

“The potion will be useless without Crabbe’s and Goyle’s hair,” she said sternly. “You do want to investigate Malfoy, don’t you?”

“Oh, all right, all right,” said Harry. “But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?”

“I’ve already got mine!” said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. “Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she’s gone home for Christmas — so I’ll just have to tell the Slytherins I’ve decided to come back.”

Hermione ignored the incredulous looks Ron and Harry were giving her and rushed off to check the Polyjuice Potion one more time. She was ready. It was time. She just hoped Ron and Harry could follow her simple instructions.

\-----

Now that it was ready for the essence of the people they’d be turning into, the Polyjuice Potion was producing a heavy, inky-black smoke that made Hermione’s eyes water. Finally, she heard the squeak of the door.

“Hermione?”

Hermione emerged from the stall, shiny-faced, and looking anxious. Behind her was the gloop gloop sound of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.

“Did you get them?” Hermione asked breathlessly.

Harry showed her Goyle’s hair. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry,” Hermione said, holding up a small sack (she knew Ron and Harry didn’t have the capacity for planning anything and took it upon herself to get new robes for them). “You’ll need bigger sizes once you’re Crabbe and Goyle.”

The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly. Now that it was time to take the potion, Hermione started to doubt herself. She scanned the instructions one more time.

“I’m sure I’ve done everything right,” said Hermione, nervously re-reading the splotched page of  _ Moste Potente Potions _ . “It looks like the book says it should … once we’ve drunk it, we’ll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves.”

“Now what?” Ron whispered.

“We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs.”

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode’s hair out of its bottle into the first glass.

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.

“Urgh — essence of Millicent Bulstrode,” said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. “Bet it tastes disgusting.”

“Add yours, then,” said Hermione.

Harry dropped Goyle’s hair into the middle glass, and Ron put Crabbe’s into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle’s turned the khaki colour of a booger, Crabbe’s a dark, murky brown. Hermione tried not to think of the significance of the colours or if they had any correlation to the taste.

“Hang on,” said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. “We’d better not all drink them in here. Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle, we won’t fit. And Millicent Bulstrode’s no pixie.”

“Good thinking,” said Ron, unlocking the door. “We’ll take separate stalls.” Harry and Ron went into stalls on either side of Hermione’s. Her heart started pounding. She was sure they could hear it.

“Ready?” Harry called.

“Ready,” said Ron and Hermione.

“One — two — three —” came Harry’s voice. Hermione pinched her nose and took three large gulps before she could think too much about it. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, Hermione’s insides started writhing as though she’d just swallowed live snakes — doubled up, she wondered whether she was going to be sick — then a burning sensation spread rapidly from her stomach to the very ends of her fingers and toes — next, bringing her gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over her body bubbled like hot wax — and before her eyes, her hands began to distort — the fingers thickened, the nails pointed, the knuckles were bulging like bolts, then the fur started growing everywhere — her shoulders stretched painfully, and a prickling on her forehead told her that fur was creeping down toward her face as well — every sound seemed amplified and a heavy purring began in her chest — a sharp pain shot through her back right under the waist of her skirt and she heard a rip —”

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. As soon as she saw the fur creeping along her hands, Hermione knew things had gone terribly and dreadfully wrong.

“Are you two okay?” Goyle’s low rasp of a voice echoed over the bathroom from Harry’s stall.

“Yeah,” came the deep grunt of Crabbe from Ron’s.

Hermione heard the stall doors unlatch and the sound of their socked feet padding out of their stalls. The sounds were intense, almost like she had supersonic hearing. She could hear the rustle of their robes, their breathing, their blinking.

Ron’s door opened. They stared at each other. Except that he looked pale and shocked, 

“This is unbelievable,” said Ron in Crabbe’s voice. “Unbelievable.”

“We’d better get going,” said Harry. “We’ve still got to find out where the Slytherin Common Room is. I only hope we can find someone to follow …”

“You don’t know how bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking,” Ron said directly outside of Hermione’s door. She heard his arm raise and the sound of banging on her stall door. “C’mon, we need to go —”

Hermione finally opened her eyes, and her worst fear was confirmed. She stammered an answer. “I — I don’t think I’m going to come after all. You go on without me.”

“Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode’s ugly. No one’s going to know it’s you —” Ron replied.

“No — really — I don’t think I’ll come. You two hurry up, you’re wasting time —” she stuttered, reaching behind her and finding a tail.

“That looks more like Goyle,” said Ron, presumably about a look Harry must have given at Hermione’s answer. “That’s how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question.”

“Hermione, are you okay?” said Harry through the door. She wanted to tell them, but they only had an hour. They had to go. She’d deal with it herself.

“Fine — I’m fine — go on —” Her hands (paws) drifted up to her head—two pointy ears.

“We’ll meet you back here, all right?” he said. 

Hermione nodded, even though he couldn’t hear her. She listened as they left the lavatory and took a deep breath, gathering her courage to go out and look at herself in the mirror. She knew exactly what her carelessness had done but needed to see it for herself.

The five steps from the stall to the mirrors were the longest journey Hermione had ever embarked upon. Hermione had her eyes shut the entire way. Finally, with a surge of bravery, Hermione opened her eyes.

A strange, humanoid version of Millicent Bulstrode’s cat stared back at her in the mirror. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow, and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair. Her teeth were long, cat-like fangs. In her haste, Hermione hadn’t carefully inspected the hairs she had removed from her jumper the day of the duel. Had she done so, she may have realized the hairs were feline.

“Oh, my,” Myrtle was suddenly floating right next to Hermione. “You’ve messed up.”

“Yes, I know, Myrtle,” Hermione snapped back.

“What are you going to do?”

“Obviously wait until I transform back,” Hermione said. 

“You didn’t read ahead, did you,” Myrtle snickered. “You’re not going to transform back.”

Hermione was trying not to lose her patience with the whiney ghost. “What on earth do you mean? Come out with it!”

“Well,” Moaning Myrtle sneered. “Had you read the end of the chapter on Polyjuice Potion, you’d know that it is not meant to be used to transform into animals. You’ll never transform back now.”

Hermione gasped. Certainly, Myrtle was lying to be cruel. She flew back into the stall where the restricted book sat and ripped open its pages. She read:

T _ he Polyjuice Potion, which is a complex and time-consuming concoction, is best left to highly skilled witches and wizards. It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they have first procured part of that individual's body to add to the brew (this may be anything — toenail clippings, dandruff or worse — but it is most usual to use hair). The idea that a witch or wizard might make evil use of parts of the body is an ancient one, and exists in the folklore and superstitions of many cultures. The effect of the potion is only temporary, and depending on how well it has been brewed, may last anything from between ten minutes and twelve hours. You can change age, sex, and race by taking the Polyjuice Potion, but not species. Species transformations may result in permanent metamorphosis and should not be attempted.  _

Hermione’s wail rivaled one of Myrtle’s best. She was going to be a cat for the rest of her life, all because she didn’t read the fine print. 

Her mind started to spiral. Everyone would find out what they were up to. They’d realize Hermione had stolen the ingredients from Snape’s storeroom to brew a potion second-years had absolutely no business brewing. She’d be expelled but wouldn’t be able to go back home because she was a cat — she’d be forced to live her life underground and in hiding. The anxiety bubbled over, and Hermione crumpled into a ball next to the toilet.

A peculiar thing happened, however. Just as Hermione started to launch fully into a panic attack - Hermione felt a deep vibration within her chest. She seemed to be purring to self soothe herself, just as a cat would! The feeling was so remarkable, Hermione stopped thinking for a moment and just focused on the calming vibrations.

Slowly, Hermione felt herself calming down, even to the point where she could think about her current feline state rationally. She reread the passage and realized, once again, she had neglected to continue reading:

_ Should a species transformation occur, there is a very, very small chance a reversal can happen with proper intervention by someone much more skilled and of better judgment than the person who attempted to change species in the first place. _ __   
  


While Hermione didn’t appreciate the snarkiness, she was able to garner a slight sliver of hope. Perhaps all was not lost. With a few white lies, she’d be able to convince Madam Pomfrey to help her transform back into a girl. She didn’t necessarily have to admit to brewing and taking the Polyjuice Potion. Maybe she could say she was testing out different Transfiguration techniques since she had an interest in Animagi. She’d get a stern talking to, for sure, but it wouldn’t nearly have the same repercussions as the dangerous potion.

With that worry somewhat quieted, Hermione moved on to the most pressing: the return of Harry and Ron. She didn’t want to see their faces when they saw her “new look.” She didn’t want to have to admit to them that she had messed up. She didn’t want to hear the jokes Ron would come up with. No amount of self soothing-purring would help that anxiety and embarrassment.

“Well, it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. “I know we still haven’t found out who’s doing the attacks, but I’m going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys’ drawing room.” Ron hammered on the door of Hermione’s stall. “Hermione, come out, we’ve got loads to tell you —”

“Go away!” Hermione squeaked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

“What’s the matter?” said Ron. “You must be back to normal by now. We are —”

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Harry had never seen her looking so happy.

“Ooooooh, wait till you see,” she said. “It’s awful —”

They heard the lock slide back, and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.

“What’s up?” said Ron uncertainly. “Have you still got Millicent’s nose or something?”

Hermione let her robes fall, and Ron backed into the sink.

“It was a c-cat hair!” she howled. “M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn’t supposed to be used for animal transformations!”

“Uh-oh,” said Ron.

“You’ll be teased something dreadful,” said Myrtle happily.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” said Harry quickly. “We’ll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions…”

“Absolutely not, I’ll be expelled.” 

“Come off it,” Ron said. “You’re not going to be expelled. McGonagall loves you too much. Now that I think of it, you and McGonagall can go chase mice together now.”

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed loudly, taking a swipe at him with his paw.

“You’ve scratched me!” Ron yelled, stepping backward. “You’re mental!” Ron checked his face in the mirror for blood.

“You kind of deserved it, mate,” Harry said with a chuckle.

“I’m not going,” Hermione continued. “You can’t make me.”

“Fine,” Ron said, lowering his voice. “You can hang out here with Miss Sunshine over there.” He pointed at Myrtle. “I’m sure you’ll have loads of fun meowing and moaning together for the rest of time.”

Luckily for Ron, Myrtle didn’t hear him. However, Hermione did hear him and shot him a look that made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for any more of his jokes. “So, what happened? Did the plan work?” she asked, changing the subject. She needed to get her mind off of her current state.

“It took us forever to find the Slytherin Common Room,” Harry started. “And Percy caught us roaming around, but then Malfoy came, and we were able to follow him down into the dungeons.”

“Guess what their password is,” Ron said darkly.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “What?”

“Pureblood,” Ron spat. 

Hermione’s whole body shivered from her head to her tail.

“So we go in,” Harry continued. “And Malfoy says he wants to show us something funny and then hands us this.” Harry pulled a newspaper clipping from the  _ Daily Prophet _ and handed it to Hermione. She read:

_ INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC _

_ Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car. _

_ Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley’s resignation. _

_ “Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute,” Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. “He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws, and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately.” _

_ Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off, or she’d set the family ghoul on them. _

“Oh no!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I know,” Ron hung his head. “Almost gave us away, though. Malfoy was laughing so hard, and I just wanted to rip the git’s head off.”

“But it got us on the subject of the Heir of Slytherin,” Harry said. “Draco has no idea who it is.”

“Do you believe him?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry answered with a frown.

“Did he say anything else?” Hermione asked.

“The Chamber has been opened before,” Harry said, his eyes wide. “Fifty years ago. A student died.”

Hermione gasped. “Oh my goodness!” She felt dizzy.

“‘Mione, are you ok?” Ron said, suddenly right next to her. The fur on the back of her neck stood on end. “Come on, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Ron insisted. “For one thing, you’re a cat. For another thing, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I just didn’t expect to hear that,” Hermione said. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ron said.

“Maybe Ron’s right,” Harry said. “You should really get to the Hospital Wing, Hermione. Madam Pomfrey will definitely be able to help.”

“Fine. But tell me one thing. Who opened the Chamber?” Hermione asked.

“Malfoy didn’t know,” Harry said. “But said whoever it was got expelled and probably sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison. Now, come on, let’s go.

As they started to walk towards the door, Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw. “Wait till everyone finds out you’ve got a tail!”


	13. The Very Secret Diary

Hermione had to give her credit; Madam Pomfrey barely flinched as Ron and Harry led Hermione into the Hospital Wing. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a predicament,” she said simply as she ushered Hermione down the hall with one hand and shooing Ron and Harry away with the other.

The skilled yet harried healer led Hermione to a somewhat secluded area behind a curtain. “Sit,” she instructed, and Hermione perched herself on the cold metal stool next to the hospital bed. Her tail, however, got in the way, and Hermione nearly toppled over. Madam Pomfrey caught her without looking and helped her to right herself. 

“Miss Granger,” she said, starting a chart and then staring Hermione down with a very matter-of-factly look. “I am not concerned with, nor am I obligated to, administer any potential discipline that would be deserving of whatever it is that you did. I adhere to strict confidentiality rules and, therefore, if whatever it is you did will remain just between you and me unless, of course, there is a possibility another student is in danger. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded. 

“Right. So, with that said, I need to know exactly what you did so I can know how to fix it.”

Hermione gulped and fought the urge to start licking herself. “Polyjuice Potion,” she meowed softly.

Madam Pomfrey did a double-take. “Polyjuice Potion?!” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you a second-year?!” Hermione nodded. “And you were able to brew Polyjuice Potion?!” Hermione nodded again. “The rumours were true about you, weren’t they?” the healer asked no one in particular as she marked something down in the chart. The healer allowed herself a moment of bewilderment, but now it was back to business. Hermione wondered what rumours Madam Pomfrey had heard. 

After a thorough examination, Hermione was instructed to change into pajamas and into the hospital bed out in the ward. As she walked to what would be her bed for the next few weeks, Hermione caught sight of Colin and Sir Nicholas, laying stonelike in side by side beds behind a curtain. If Madam Pomfrey hadn’t been right behind her, she would have lingered longer. Perhaps their petrified bodies held a clue. Hermione vowed to sneak back to look when Madam Pomfrey wasn’t so close.

“As someone smart and patient enough to brew one of the most difficult potions in existence, you should already know there are no guarantees when it comes to species metamorphosis with Polyjuice Potion,” Madam Pomfrey said. Hermione felt her ears flick. “However, in my twenty years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I have seen it all and treated it all. The transition will not be an easy process, Miss Granger, but I do believe it will be a successful one. I will need your complete cooperation. Is that clear?” Hermione nodded again. “Good,” Madam Pomfrey said. “We will begin tomorrow. I suggest you get your rest.”

The following few days were some of the most painful Hermione had ever experienced in her life. The physical transition back to her human self wasn’t entirely done by magic. For example, Hermione’s feline-like teeth had to be filed down daily (though Hermione made the most of this by “accidentally” letting Madam Pomfrey file her teeth a little more than she should have).

There was a flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays. Of course, everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing, trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione’s bed to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face. 

Hermione had taken it upon herself to write letters to all of her professors, notifying them that even though she was in the Hospital Wing for the foreseeable future, she was perfectly willing and able to keep up with any and all school work. All of the professors were happy to oblige, giving her work to Ron and Harry to bring to her and sending her letters of support. A personal get well letter from a certain Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher almost made the whole fiasco worth it. Almost.

“If I’d sprouted whiskers, I’d take a break from work,” said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione’s bedside table one evening.

“Don’t be silly, Ron, I’ve got to keep up,” said Hermione briskly. Her spirits were significantly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from her face, and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown. She missed being in classes but, on the other hand, really enjoyed the independent learning she had been doing. Not only could she learn at her own pace, but she also didn’t have to feel the eyes of her classmates on her, the class Mudblood. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?” she added in a whisper so that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t hear her.

“Nothing,” said Harry gloomily.

“I was so sure it was Malfoy,” said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

“What’s that?” asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione’s pillow.

“Just a get well card,” said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:

_ “To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.” _

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

“You sleep with this under your pillow?”

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine, which was absolutely disgusting. She’d much rather drink the vile Polyjuice Potion instead, and that was saying something.

\-----

In all of her downtime, Hermine had been working on a mixture of school work and a mixture of research about the Chamber of Secrets. A few days before she was to be discharged from the hospital wing, Hermione had a very special visitor. 

“Professor McGonagall!” Hermione exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter in her hospital bed and pushing the various books under the blanket.

“Hello, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall replied in her usual curtness. “I trust you are feeling better?”

“Oh yes, thank you,” said Hermione, extremely relieved not to have a face full of fur.

“Good to hear. We’ve missed you in class. No one has been answering my questions,” Professor McGonagall said with a rare wink and half-smile. “But, nevermind all that. What’s important is that you’re doing better.”

“Oh yes, much,” Hermione said. “Madam Pomfrey said I should be able to leave in the next few days.”

“Excellent,” Professor McGonagall looked slightly awkward for a moment. “I would assume whatever hijinx that landed you in the Hospital Wing is not something I, as the head of Gryffindor House, should be privy to?”

“Erm,” Hermione stuttered.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Professor McGonagall said. “In that case, I implore that you keep whatever it is that you did to yourself. Gossip tends to run rampant here at Hogwarts, and I always end up finding out. I don’t want to have to take away any points for Gryffindor. And please pass that along to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley since I am sure they were involved.”

Hermione nodded, her cheeks burning. “Yes, Professor,” she said quietly.

“Now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to discuss another matter with you.” Professor McGonagall took a seat on the folding chair Ron had pulled over earlier that day during his daily visit. “The Chamber of Secrets. I am assuming you have been trying to do research judging by these books you have put under the blankets.”

Hermione’s blush intensified. “Yes, I’ve been doing a little light reading.”

“I suppose if I were in your shoes, I’d do the same,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “Unfortunately, some wizards consider blood status a matter of importance, even in these modern times. It just seems to be more prevalent now with all that is going on here at Hogwarts. But, I assure you, they are the minority. You will always be welcomed in the Wizarding World.” In a rare show of emotion, Professor McGonagall placed her hand on Hermione’s arm. “In fact, you are more of a wizard than they will ever be.”

Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes. “Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said. “That means a lot.”

“Right,” Professor McGonagall said stiffly and stood up quickly. “With that said, please be careful, both in your research and just in general. And please do not get into any more trouble with your friends Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. If the three of you find something out, please promise me you will come to me instead of trying to handle it yourself?”

“I promise,” Hermione said, but her fingers were most certainly crossed under the blanket.

\-----

Through her research, Hermione had uncovered something called a “Pure-Blood Directory'' that, quite frankly, made her sick to her stomach. Written sometime in the 1930s, the book was published anonymously in Great Britain and listed twenty-eight families judged to be pure-blood by the anonymous author (who is widely believed to be Cantankerus Nott). He dubbed these families the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Hermione scanned the family names of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, recognizing quite a few of them from her fellow classmates: Malfoy, Abbott, Bulstrode, Longbottom, and Weasley, to name a few. The Heir of Slytherin would, conceivably, be a part of one of those families since she doubted whatever magical enchantment Salazar Slytherin placed on his Chamber would allow anyone but a pure-blood witch or wizard to open it.

Hermione pulled out her favourite quill (and refrained from swatting the feather) and parchment to create a list of all of the current students who were members of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” families and, essentially, potential suspects. 

> _ Hannah Abbott, Hufflepuff _
> 
> _ Millicent Bulstrode, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Flora Carrow, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Hestia Carrow, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Sullivan Fawley, Hufflepuff _
> 
> _ Marcus Flint, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Daphne Greengrass, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Neville Longbottom, Gryffindor _
> 
> _ Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff _
> 
> _ Draco Malfoy, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Theodore Nott, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin _
> 
> _ Fred Weasley, Gryffindor _
> 
> _ George Weasley, Gryffindor _
> 
> _ Ginny Weasley, Gryffindor _
> 
> _ Percy Weasley, Gryffindor _
> 
> _ Ron Weasley, Gryffindor _

Hermione found it quite peculiar that the Weasleys were part of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” on both sides of their family - Weasley on their father’s side and Prewett on their mother’s side. Then, quickly weighing the pros and cons, she added Harry’s name to the list; the Potter family was excluded from the list because Henry Potter took an outspoken pro-Muggle view during his time in the Wizengamot. Hermione thought this was just done purely out of spite, and Harry should not be excluded.

If Draco didn’t know who the Heir of Slytherin was, that probably excluded the Slytherins. Hermione knew there’d be no conceivable way a Slytherin could be the Heir without Draco knowing. He and his father were too important to be left out of the loop. That left Hannah, Sullivan, Neville, Ernie, Harry, and the Weasleys. Hermione immediately dismissed the idea of Harry, Neville, or the Weasleys being the Heir, which left Hannah, Sullivan, and Ernie. Hermione’s stomach turned - it was much easier to believe a Slytherin was responsible.

She started to dive into the suspects. Ernie had definitely not cast a great impression that day in the Great Hall. Also, he was the one who had a problem with Harry after the duel incident, but he could have just been projecting. He seemed to be good friends with Justin Finch-Fletchley, which made it hard to believe he’d put his friend in danger with the Slytherin monster, but maybe the Heir didn’t have complete control over who the monster attacked. 

Hermione wasn’t too familiar with Sullivan, though she knew he was friends with Ernie and Justin as well. She made a note to pay more attention to him when she got out of the Hospital Wing.

Hermione had appreciated Hannah diffusing the situation with Ernie in the Great Hall and had a generally good impression of her. She also knew from past conversations Hannah’s mother was a Muggle. She’d like to believe that having a Muggle parent would make someone a bit more compassionate towards Muggle-born witches and wizards. Hermione found it hard to believe Hannah would be the one responsible for all of this… unless she was possessed.

Hermione gasped. That was always a possibility. She wasn’t exactly familiar with the magic involved with possession, but she knew it was plausible. Hermione had no choice but to bring back Harry, Neville, and the Weasleys onto the list with possession mixed in.

She didn’t want to think about the ramifications of someone she was so close to turning out to be the Heir, so Hermione tabled the hunt for the suspect and turned her attention to the monster itself.

What kind of monster could petrify its victims? What kind of monster could petrify an animal? A ghost? Why was there always water on the ground? What was the deal with the spiders?

Hermione had requested  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ by Newt Scamander from the library (yet another one of her schoolbooks from the previous year that didn’t make the cut so she could bring all of Lockhart’s books), and finally just received it. She cracked it open and began to scan the pages within. 

Alphabetically (and coincidentally), the first beast mentioned was an Acromantula. Hermione’s mind flashed back to the row of spiders crawling along the window right after the attack on Mrs. Norris. She read further:

_ Acromantulas were a giant magical species of spider, native to the rainforests of Southeast Asia, particularly Borneo, where it inhabited dense jungles. Acromantulas were believed to be a wizard-bred species, designed to guard dwellings or treasure hoards, and were first created before the Ban on Experimental Breeding in 1965. These giant spiders with a taste for human flesh were first spotted in 1794.  _

Certainly, the bit about guarding dwellings or treasures piqued Hermione’s interest, but nothing in Newt Scamander’s comprehensive book mentioned anything about the petrification of victims. Still, she wrote down the beast to look into some more later. One could never do too much research.

Hermione continued down the list, writing down notes about various beasts and monsters. Another creature that caught her eye was the Basilisk, a monstrous serpentine creature. A basilisk could kill its victim with both its potent venom and its huge yellow eyes, which are immediately fatal to any creature who looks at them directly. Likewise, a Cockatrice, a mythical two-legged serpent-like creature with a rooster's head, can kill its victims with a glance as well. 

Though it wasn’t included in Scamander’s book, Hermione wanted to do some additional research about Medusa from Greek Mythology. She was familiar with the story in the Muggle world and had a hunch Medusa had something to do with the Wizarding World (instead of just being a mythical story) as well. Medusa, generally described as a winged human female with living venomous snakes in place of hair, would turn any who gazed into her eyes would turn to stone.

In Hermione’s educated opinion, Medusa would check all the boxes: Serpent-like hair, which would tie in well with the Slytherin mascot, turning the victims to stone. She’d make sure to reserve a book on Greek Mythology when she was able to get out of the hospital wing.

\----- 

At the beginning of February, Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and fur-free, and with much more manageable front teeth. On her first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed a very peculiar diary and told her the story of how they had found it.

“So, there we were, out in the hallway near Myrtle’s bathroom, and there was water everywhere,” Harry said. “We went in, and Moaning Myrtle was moaning about someone throwing something at her… and this was just sitting there.”

“And see here?” Ron said, pointing to a name written on the front page in smudged ink. “T.M. Riddle. He got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago.”

“How do you know that?” Hermione asked, surprised Ron knew something about History, and she didn’t.

“Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention,” said Ron resentfully. “That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you’d wiped slime off a name for an hour, you’d remember it, too.”

“But there’s nothing else written in it,” Harry continued. “How does a 50-year-old diary just randomly show up in an out of order girls lavatory?”

“Oooh, it might have hidden powers,” said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

“If it has, it’s hiding them very well,” said Ron. “Maybe it’s shy. I don’t know why you don’t chuck it, Harry.”

“I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it,” said Harry. “I wouldn’t mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either.”

“Could’ve been anything,” said Ron. “Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.’s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favor…”

The thought hit Hermione like a lightning bolt. From the look on his face, Hermione could tell the idea popped into Harry’s head as well. 

“What?” said Ron, looking from one to the other.

“Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn’t it?” he said. “That’s what Malfoy said.”

“Yeah,” said Ron slowly.

“And this diary is fifty years old,” said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

“So?”

“Oh, Ron, wake up,” snapped Hermione. “We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything — where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it — the person who’s behind the attacks this time wouldn’t want that lying around, would they?”

“That’s a brilliant theory, Hermione,” said Ron, “with just one tiny little flaw. There’s nothing written in his diary.”

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.

“It might be invisible ink!” she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, “Aparecium!”

Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.

“It’s a Revealer. I got it in Diagon Alley,” she said.

She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in there,” said Ron. “Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in. “

\-----

Hermione’s research continued, both about Medusa and the mysterious T.M. Riddle. They took a quick trip to the trophy room to see if they could find any other artifacts mentioning Riddle’s name. 

They found Riddle’s burnished gold shield Ron had polished tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn’t carry details of why it had been given to him (“Good thing, too, or it’d be even bigger, and I’d still be polishing it,” said Ron). However, they did find Riddle’s name on an old Medal for Magical Merit and on a list of old Head Boys.

“He sounds like Percy,” said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Prefect, Head Boy … probably top of every class —”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Hermione. Why Ron didn’t value those things were beyond Hermione’s understanding.

Having received a Medal for Magical Merit, Hermione made an easy assumption that T.M. Riddle must have been involved with the Chamber opening 50 years ago in some sort of capacity. It was too much of a coincidence that he’d receive the medal the same year the Chamber had been opened and the student who was responsible expelled. 

Her research into Medusa wasn’t going as well as she had hoped. Hermione could not, for the life of her, find any reference to Medusa in any Wizarding World book. She was only mentioned in various Muggle books. She decided she’d ask Professor Binns or Professor Burbage (the Muggle Studies professor) if they could shed any light on Medusa’s role in Wizarding History.

\-----

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood. 

“The moment their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for repotting again,” Harry heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. “And after that, it won’t be long until we’re cutting them up and stewing them. You’ll have Mrs. Norris back in no time.”

Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Hermione. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years… Nonetheless, Hermione persevered and continued to solve the mystery with as much research as she could manage.

Ernie Macmillan was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had “given himself away” at the Dueling Club. Hermione kept an eye on Ernie from afar. The fact he was so vocal about Harry’s guilt seemed like a red herring to Hermione. 

Gilderoy Lockhart had been diving into the mystery as well. Hermione surmised he had been doing a lot of investigating on his own. She overheard him, telling Professor McGonagall all about it. 

“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. “I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.

“You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…”

He tapped his nose again and strode off, Hermione’s eyes on him as he left.

Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. As soon as Hermione walked into the Great Hall, she was overcome with the spirit of love. The walls were all covered with large pink flowers. Heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Everything looked so amazing. Lockhart must have spent all night on the decorations. She hoped he hadn’t been too busy to read the valentine she left him. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon.

Ron pointed to the teachers’ table. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. Hermione turned completely in her seat so she could see him and give him her full attention.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!”

Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!” Hermione clapped her hands and squealed with glee. She had never been a fan of Valentine’s Day, but it was hard not to be with all of the beautiful surprises. Ron, however, found a way to not be excited.

“Please, Hermione, tell me you weren’t one of the forty-six,” said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn’t answer. 

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers (and also to the annoyance of Hermione… after a while, it did get tiresome). Late that afternoon, as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

“Oy, you! ’Arry Potter!” shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins and reached him before he’d gone two paces.

“I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ’Arry Potter in person,” he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

“Not here,” Harry hissed, trying to escape.

“Stay still!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

“Let me go!” Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor. Hermione knelt down to help him. She could see Harry was extremely uncomfortable. 

“What’s going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.

“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.

“Right,” he said, sitting on Harry’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:

> _ “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, _
> 
> _ His hair is as dark as a blackboard. _
> 
> _ I wish he was mine, he’s really divine, _
> 
> _ The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.” _

Hermione could tell Harry was extremely embarrassed, but he tried to laugh along with everyone else. Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some of the younger students away. “And you, Malfoy —”

Hermione and Harry saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Hermione’s heart dropped - Draco had Riddle’s diary.

“Give that back,” said Harry quietly.

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” said Malfoy, who obviously hadn’t noticed the year on the cover and thought he had Harry’s own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly.

“When I’ve had a look,” said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

Percy said, “As a school prefect —” but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.

“Harry!” said Percy loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!”

They all ran to Professor Flitwick’s class through the chaos. Hermione thought she caught sight of Ginny running down the hall - or, at least, someone with flaming red hair. Harry’s books were absolutely covered in ink from the tussle with the dwarf in the corridor… except for T.M. Riddle’s diary.


	14. A Future Set in Stone

As soon as Hermione saw Harry the next morning in the Great Hall, she knew something had happened. When they had noticed the inkless diary, Hermione had recommended trying to write in the diary to see if the ink was repelled, and he agreed to try once he got back up to the dormitory.

“I wrote in the diary, just like you said,” Harry started in a hushed voice. “And Tom Riddle answered!”

“What do you mean, ‘answered?’” Hermione said. 

“I wrote, ‘My name is Harry Potter,’ and then my ink vanished and in its place the words, ‘Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?’ showed up on the page,” Harry said. “And so I wrote about how someone threw it in a toilet and that I found it. He said something about how he wasn’t surprised because his diary held a lot of secrets that people didn’t want to get out. Secrets about Hogwarts and the Chamber of Secrets.” Harry took a deep breath. Hermione realized she had been holding hers. She let it out in anticipation, but Harry was taking his good old time.

“And?!” Hermione said sharply. 

“Well,” Harry said. “He wrote out this whole paragraph about how, when he was in his fifth year, the Chamber was opened, and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. Tom caught the person who’d opened the Chamber, and the student was expelled. But the headmaster, Professor Dippet, forbade Tom to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident, not that the monster killed it. But Tom said he knew it could happen again, especially because the person who opened it wasn’t imprisoned.”

“Did he know who it was?” Hermione interrupted. “Who opened the Chamber? And why wasn’t he imprisoned?!”

“I wondered the same thing. But then Tom offered to show me what happened instead of writing it out.”

“Show you?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, the pages of the diary began to blow about and stopped halfway through on June 13th. There was kind of a little window on the page, so I held it up to look into it. Before I knew what was happening, I pitched headfirst through the opening in the page!” Hermione gasped as Harry continued. Ron listened as well, though it seemed as though he had already heard the story.

“Suddenly, I landed in Dumbledore’s office, only it wasn’t Dumbledore’s office. It was Headmaster Dippet’s office,” Harry continued. “He couldn’t see me or hear me, but I could see and hear everything that went on. Tom came in, and he and Dippet started talking about how Tom was going to have to go back to the orphanage he lived at because it wasn’t safe for him to stay at Hogwarts. See, his parents were both dead - just like me, by the way - and Dippet was worried Tom would be targeted because he was a half-blood.

“So Tom decided to tell Dippet who the Heir of Slytherin was so that way he wouldn’t have to go back to the orphanage,” Harry paused again and frowned. “It was Hagrid. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

Hermione couldn’t speak at first. Hagrid hadn’t even been a possibility. It just wasn’t fathomable. Hermione made Harry tell her the story again and then again for a third time, hoping it’d change. It didn’t. Still, Hermione had doubts.

“Riddle might have got the wrong person,” said Hermione. “Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people. …”

“How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?” Ron asked dully.

“We always knew Hagrid had been expelled,” said Harry miserably. “And the attacks must’ve stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.”

Ron tried a different tack.

“Riddle does sound like Percy — who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?”

“But the monster had killed someone, Ron,” said Hermione.

“And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,” said Harry. “I don’t blame him for wanting to stay here…” 

Hermione knew exactly what Harry meant. She kept thinking, trying to find a loophole in the story. Ron spoke up again. “You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn’t you, Harry?”

“He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent,” said Harry quickly.

The three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

“Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?”

“That’d be a cheerful visit,” said Ron. “ ‘Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’ ”

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack. As more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and almost everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March, several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.

“The moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” Professor Sprout said. “Then we’ll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing.”

\-----

The second-years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays, and Hermione welcomed the forced change of pace. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione took very seriously. She had to - she felt as though she had really slacked off with her schoolwork this year with everything going on with the Chamber of Secrets. She’d be able to get back on track next year and, potentially, take some extra classes to make up for everything. 

“It could affect our whole future,” Hermione told Harry and Ron as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

“I just want to give up Potions,” said Harry.

“We can’t,” said Ron gloomily. “We keep all our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“But that’s very important!” said Hermione, shocked.

“Not the way Lockhart teaches it,” said Ron. “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose.” Hermione scowled at him.

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Hermione, had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody’s advice and signed up for everything.

She knew it wouldn’t be possible to take all of the classes, but Hermione truly couldn’t decide. Everything sounded absolutely fascinating. She was pretty sure that once Professor McGonagall saw all of the lessons she chose, she’d schedule to meet with Hermione and give her advice. Still, Hermione took out a few books from the library to read up on the different subjects she had been offered. 

Hermione settled into the Gryffindor Common Room’s comfy chair to read the first book she got from the library,  _ Ancient Ruins Made Easy _ , which was unbelievably fascinating. It was so nice to concentrate on her school work for once instead of worrying about the Chamber of Secrets and its monster. While she completely disregarded the notion Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin and knew the culprit had yet to be caught, she took a bit of comfort in the fact there hadn’t been an attack for a few months. Just as she had pulled her quill out to take notes, Ron and Harry sat down across from her. 

“Riddle’s diary’s gone,” Harry said in an undertone to Hermione. “Someone tossed my room. It’s gone.”

“What?” she gasped. Her mind was going a mile a minute. The “word vomit” was starting, but she was so upset that she was failing to put together complete sentences. “But — only a Gryffindor could have stolen — nobody else knows our password —”

“Exactly,” said Harry.

Hermione’s stomach turned to stone, and the familiar feeling of cold heat enveloped her body. A Gryffindor. A Gryffindor was the Heir of Slytherin. It had to be. Who else would want Riddle’s secrets to be kept secret? She glanced at Ron. Could it be him? He looked just as shocked as she was, though. Could he be acting? No, no one could be that good at acting, especially Ron. He had absolutely no filter. It couldn’t be Ron. Hermione felt guilty for even thinking it could be him.

That left Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, and Neville. Hermione hoped with all her heart it was Percy, but knew that was just wishful thinking and not rooted in concrete evidence (though Percy, as a prefect, had been out patrolling the corridors so had the perfect excuse to be out and about during the attacks if he was ever caught). She didn’t want to believe that one of her friends could be trying to kill people. People like her. 

She needed her notes. She needed to concentrate. She needed to figure it out before it was too late. The danger was real, and it was in her house.

\-----

Even though she didn’t feel as though it was safe for her in the Gryffindor towers now that she knew the Heir of Slytherin was in her house, Hermione ran up to her room and locked the door. Her pleas to Harry to report the robbery went on deaf ears. Hermione couldn’t help but think of how nice it must be for Harry not to have to worry that the monster of Slytherin was going to petrify you at any moment like she had to (she figured being a Parslemouth and “the boy who lived” gave Harry a leg up).

Hermione pulled out her notes again and started to reread everything. She added the different parts Harry had learned from Tom Riddle as well, hoping it’d connect some of the dots. The monster was able to kill, not just petrify (which was absolutely horrible and terrifying, but Hermione couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the increased danger), which broadened the search a bit when it came to the monster. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to think about the Heir, even though she was totally convinced whoever it was - be it George, Fred, Percy, Ginny, or Neville - they were under the Chamber’s spell and not working on their own accord. 

Hermione stayed up most of the night, pouring over  _ Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them _ . She kept coming back to the Basilisk and a Medusa type monster, but what she couldn’t piece together was how no one had noticed either a huge snake or a woman with snakes for hair waltzing around the castle. Even the dimmest of students (like Crabbe and Goyle) would notice something like that. Hermione knew that if she could figure that out, she’d be closer to finding out where the Chamber of Secrets was and then, maybe, Dumbledore could close it… and, if Dumbledore closed it, whichever one of her friends had opened, it would be broken from it’s hold over them. 

Her mind was still reeling the next morning when she woke up and joined Ron and Harry in the Great Hall for breakfast. There was to be a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff later that day, so Harry was trying to fill up on carbs. Hermione was trying to determine whether or not it’d be too dangerous to stick around in the mostly empty castle while everyone was at the pitch to investigate. With Fred and George playing in the game, Hermione only had to worry about Ginny, Percy, and Neville staying in the castle. 

Her eyes scanned the Great Hall. Percy was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Penelope Clearwater of Ravenclaw. He was dressed in all of his Gryffindor colours, presumably to help cheer the team on from the stands during the match. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find Ginny or Neville in the sea of students.

Nonetheless, her mind was made up. Hermione figured she’d walk down with Ron and Harry but then sneak back up as soon as the game started. She knew Ron wouldn’t notice - he wouldn’t notice if a giant Medusa was standing right next to him if there was a Quidditch game going on. Hopefully, she’d see Neville or Ginny down at the pitch in order to rule them out as well. 

Just as they walked out of the Great Hall, Harry stopped dead in his tracks and shouted, causing Hermione and Ron to jump back in alarm. “The voice!” said Harry, looking over his shoulder. “I just heard it again — didn’t you?” Harry turned toward the shared wall between the corridor and the lavatory, searching for the voice no one else could hear.

But Hermione did hear something. A hissing.

Suddenly, it all clicked. The hissing that only Harry could understand. The hissing sound that was coming from the walls… what was in the walls? Pipes. What could slither through pipes? A snake. 

The monster of Slytherin was a Basilisk, and it was using the pipes to sneak around… and it was going to attack again, very soon. 

“Harry — I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!” Hermione said quickly, and she sprinted away, up the stairs. She had to understand why most of the students were being petrified instead of killed. What was the connection? There had to be a connection. She had to learn more about the Basilisk… and she had to learn about it fast. Every time Harry heard the voice, there was another attack.

She was so focused on getting to the library as soon as possible, Hermione didn’t see Neville until she bumped into him on the steps. As soon as she saw who it was, she froze in fear. Was it Neville controlling the serpent? Was it going to come after her next?

“Hey, Hermione,” Neville said with a wide smile.

“Hi Neville,” Hermione said tentatively.

“Aren’t you going to the Quidditch game?” he asked.

“Erm, I was, yes,” Hermione stuttered. 

“But you’re going the wrong way,” Neville said.

“Right. Yes, I am,” Hermione said, getting more and more nervous. Was Neville the Heir? Was he about to call the Basilisk? “But I just remembered I needed to get a book from the library.” 

“Right then, I’ll save you a seat!” Neville said cheerily. “I’m headed out there now.” Neville turned and continued down the steps without a care in the world. Hermione watched him go. There seemed to be some pep in his step. Neville seemed too happy to have the burden of knowing he was controlling a monster to hurt his “enemies.”

Ginny, on the other hand, had been despondent all year.

With renewed energy, Hermione ran to the library.

She knew exactly what book she was looking for. 

_ Most Macabre Monstrosities _ was on the top shelf in the magical creature section of the library. Hermione jumped up and knocked it off the shelf. The dark, blood-red book clattered to the ground. Normally, Hermione would feel horrible for making such a commotion in the library, but she knew she didn’t have much time left. The castle was nearly empty, yet she could hear a deep hissing. Her hand scanned the index quickly before landing on Basilisk. She flipped to page 724 and read:

_ "Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it." _

What Hermione did next was the most uncharacteristic thing she had ever done in her life. She glanced around to make sure the coast was clear and then ripped the page with the information on the Basilisk out of the book. At the top of the page, she wrote “pipes” in her elegant scrawl and folded it up. She knew that if she was attacked, she needed to warn them somehow, and that was the only way she could think of.

While the passage in  _ Most Macabre Monstrosities _ didn’t mention it specifically, Hermione had a hunch as to why none of the current victims had died. The book said, “all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death.” Perhaps, if a victim indirectly looked at the Basilisk, they’d not be killed but petrified instead. 

It seemed to fit perfectly. Mrs. Norris probably saw the Basilisk’s reflection in the water that was all over the floor. Colin had his camera and was probably looking through the lens. Justin may have been looking through Sir Nicholas instead of directly at the beast. 

And, as much as Hermione hated to admit it, the Heir was probably none other than Ginny Weasley. She knew she’d have to find her, and maybe she could help convince her to call off the monster. 

She needed to find Ginny. She had to stop the next attack. Hermione took the folded up passage from the book and rooted around in her bag. She had to be smart about this. Thankfully, Hermione quickly found what she was looking for: a mirror. 

Using the mirror as a shield (which it was), Hermione walked out into the corridors. She was careful to only look through the mirror at the hallway before her but wasn’t exactly sure where to go to find Ginny. Suddenly, Hermione gasped. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was Myrtle’s bathroom. It made perfect sense… the pipes… the water… and Myrtle was probably the monster’s first victim. 

She started to run as fast as she could towards the lavatory. The hissing was getting louder and seemed to be pulsing in time with Hermione’s thundering heartbeat.

She rounded the last corner. She could see the out of order sign. She ran faster. Her feet pounded the stone floors. They echoed in time with the hissing. 

“Hey, no running in the corridors!” came a voice from immediately in front of her. Hermione took a chance and looked up. It was Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect. She stopped just barely before colliding into her.

“It’s the Slytherin monster,” Hermione gasped, out of breath. “I have to tell the teachers. I figured it out.”

“I’ll come with you,” Penelope said with a set jaw. 

“Ok, but we need to look through this mirror,” Hermione said. “Like this. Just trust me.”

Penelope followed Hermione’s lead and gazed into the mirror. Hermione tilted it so they could see where they had to go. Suddenly, Hermione and Penelope both saw a flash of red dart across the mirror. Everything went grey. Everything ceased. 


	15. Aragog

Everything was still grey. 

Hermione thought she saw something at the end of the grey. A person. Finnegan… or was it Marius? Hermione couldn’t tell. She squinted. As he drew near, however, his features morphed into a bright red owl. Within its beak was a letter that seemed to read itself aloud into her unconscious. Hermione felt a pressure as the owl perched itself on her hand, accompanied by the smell of spearmint.

> _ Hey ‘Moine.  _
> 
> _ Madam Pomfrey is being completely mental and not letting anyone come in to visit all of the petrified students anymore. I don’t get it. What harm would we do? You’re already basically stone. Fred and George know all kinds of hidden passageways in the school, though, so here I am. _
> 
> _ Anyway, I don’t even know if you can hear me or whatever, but I thought you’d want to know what’s been going on. Me and Harry went to go visit Hagrid to see if he was really the one who opened the Chamber before, and while we were there, Dumbledore, Malfoy’s dad, and Fudge, the Minister of Magic, came to arrest Hagrid! Luckily we had Harry’s cloak, or else they’d have seen us. I think Dumbledore did, though. Weird guy, that one. I’m glad he talks to Harry more than me.  _
> 
> _ But, yeah, and not only did Hagrid have to go to Azkaban, but Malfoy was also going on about some rubbish about the school governors and then said all of the school governors voted for Dumbledore’s suspension from being Headmaster. We could tell Fudge wasn’t happy, but there was nothing he could do because the governors run the school, not the Ministry. I’d bet it was all Malfoy, though. He probably blackmailed all of the governors to vote that way because he’s a big fat tosser. It’s complete bollocks.  _
> 
> _ I don’t know what we’re going to do without Dumbledore. Everyone’s so tense. If there’s another attack, I reckon they’re going to have to shut down the school. I dunno. I hope not. Oh, but guess who’s not tense: Draco. He’s strutting all over the school, being a right git. I almost got a good swing one day at Potions at him, but Harry and Dean stopped me. He’s lucky I didn’t get my hands on him. _
> 
> _ Sorry. I’m rambling. I know you’d be telling me to get on with it if you could. You’d probably be making that, erm, funny looking face where your forehead scrunches up, and you look really surprised until your eyes roll. And you’d probably say something like, “Honestly, Ronald, get on with it.” I can almost hear it… I kind of miss it... _
> 
> _ So anyways, Hagrid told us to “follow the spiders” before they led him out to Azkaban. “Follow the spiders.” Mental, that one is. I hate spiders, but you already knew that. But we wanted to figure this out for you, so me and Harry did just that. We followed the spiders all the way out to the Forbidden Forest. We had to use the cloak again to get down to Hagrid’s Hut so we could take Fang, though it turns out he’s a bigger scaredy-cat than Mrs. Norris. _
> 
> _ So there we are, deep in the Forbidden Forest, and we hear this noise. It was the car! Our car! The Ford! The Forest must have turned it wild. It looked all shabby and rusted. My mum would have fainted right there and then at how bad it looked. Honestly, we could barely tell what colour it was originally.  _
> 
> _ But, then I looked to where the headlights were pointed, and I saw -- I don’t even know if I can say it -- I saw... giant spiders. Everywhere. They were huge. They picked us up and… Actually, I don’t know because I blacked out. Can’t remember a thing. Harry says they carried me, him, and Fang through the forest, but I don’t remember much. The next thing I remember is standing in front of an even bigger spider. I swear, ‘Mione, this one was bigger than the Ford. It was so big! It’s big, hairy legs… ug! I can’t even talk about it!  _
> 
> _ Let’s just pretend it was a fluffy bunny, ok? A cute, fluffy bunny. That may make this easier. Yeah. So the bunny starts talking to us as all of the baby bunnies - though they were really big for being called baby bunnies - surrounded us. The bunny’s name was Aragog, and he was Hagrid’s pet when Hagrid went to Hogwarts. No surprise there. I mean, he always thinks monsters aren’t as bad as they’re made out and look where it’s got him! A cell in Azkaban! He’s lucky he hasn’t been killed! Never gonna forgive him for this. Hagrid that is.  _
> 
> _ The bunny said that everyone thought he was the Monster of Slytherin, but it wasn’t him. Just said that his “family” - ugh - was scared of it… but he did give us one clue: the girl who died was found in the bathroom. At that point, I wanted the Monster, whatever it was, to show up even if it turned me to stone. But at least, now, we know Hagrid didn’t open the Chamber of Secrets back in the day, and we think the girl that died may be Moaning Myrtle.  _
> 
> _ So we were getting ready to leave, and the stupid bunny was like, “Yeah, I didn’t kill any humans out of respect for Hagrid, but since that bloke landed himself in Azkaban, bollocks to that!” and then he told all of his baby bunnies to go ahead and eat us!  _
> 
> _ Luckily, the Ford picked us up and got us out of there, but it was a close one, I’ll tell you. And as soon as Hagrid gets out of Azkaban, he’s going to hear about it! I promise you that!  _
> 
> _ But can you get better soon? We need you, ‘Mione. We can’t figure this out without you. Plus, my essays have been horrible without you checking them. If we survive all this, I’m not sure if I’m gonna pass all of my classes. You wouldn’t want me to have to repeat my second-year, would you? _


	16. The Chamber of Secrets

Everything was still grey.  
A blaze of red flashed within the void. An owl. A red owl. A different red owl. A scared red owl. 

A dull echo of a voice floated towards her.

> _I shouldn’t be here._
> 
> _You shouldn’t be here._
> 
> _This is all my fault._ _  
>   
> _
> 
> _I didn’t mean for this to happen, Hermione. I really didn’t. Especially you. That’s why I tried to stay as far away from you as I could._
> 
> _Obviously, it didn’t work._
> 
> _I think I’m going to tell everyone. I have to. Things are getting worse. I can’t just pretend nothing is happening anymore._
> 
> _I hope they realize I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even know what I was doing half the time. You have to believe me. I didn’t know._
> 
> _It all started with that damn diary. I found it in my cauldron when we went to Diagon Alley before term. I think it was the Malfoy’s, actually, and that it fell in there when Mr. Malfoy decided to be a prat and fight with my dad. I was going to give it back but then thought, “bugger it,” and didn’t._
> 
> _From the first time I tried to write in it, I knew it was way more than a diary. I was just messing about, writing silly drabble like, “Hi, my name is Ginny Weasley, and I’m about to go to Hogwarts,” and then it started to write back._
> 
> _At first, it was just nice to have a friend. I mean, I know we are friends, Hermione, but I also wasn’t naive enough to believe that I’d be welcomed into the “Golden Trio” any time soon, even if I was your friend. Ron would never allow it because he fancies himself a protective big brother of sorts, but he’s just a prat. Never wants to share anything, including people. I guess it makes sense when you think about it rationally. A family as big as ours? All we do is share things._
> 
> _And I’m not even going to get into the mess that is Harry Potter and how I can’t function around him for whatever reason._
> 
> _So it was nice to have someone to talk to—an interactive diary. Everyone should have one. What everyone shouldn’t have is an interactive diary possessed by the bloody Heir of Slytherin. Oh, speaking of Slytherin, that’s the other house the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in. I just let you think it was Ravenclaw like you. I didn’t want you to figure out what I was doing._
> 
> _I hate to admit it, but I didn’t even figure it out right away. Tom, the student writing back in the journal, just seemed like a nice guy at first. Real understanding and comforting about everything, especially when I’d woke up randomly with feathers and blood everywhere and not have any recollection of what had happened… and then seeing the scene of the attack with Mrs. Norris. I knew I was involved somehow. It was fairly obvious looking back now, but I didn’t know how at the time._
> 
> _I was too scared to tell a real person, so Tom bore the brunt of it. He just told me not to worry and that there was a “perfectly rational explanation” for everything and was really adamant about not telling anyone about it. It’s not an excuse, I know. But I was so scared that I let him talk me down from telling anyone. It was easier to believe him than to figure out what was going on._
> 
> _And then Colin was attacked. I freaked. I told Tom I was going to tell someone. Anyone. I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. He got angry… more angry than I had ever experienced. Angrier than my mom gets when the twins do something stupid. I was so scared. I knew I had to get away from Tom, so I threw the diary into the girls’ bathroom. Silly, I know, but I thought maybe Moaning Myrtle would annoy him into oblivion. Or something. I don’t know._
> 
> _I was going to go to McGonagall - even though that woman scares the wrackspurts out of me - when I heard Harry say that he found the diary. I knew I couldn’t let Tom get to Harry. I had to protect him. So I broke into the boys’ room to steal back the diary._
> 
> _I thought it was over, actually. And then you… you were attacked… and I knew I was responsible._
> 
> _I’m so sorry, Hermione. I tried to tell Ron and Harry this morning but I couldn’t. But seeing you here like this… I know what I’m going to do now. I’m going to tell McGonagall. I have to. Not Harry and Ron. It’s too dangerous for them. I’m going to tell McGonagall, and I am going to give her this damn diary, and Tom Riddle will never be able to hurt anyone ever again._
> 
> _I’m going to make this right. I promise._


	17. The Heir of Slytherin

Everything was still grey.

Through the grey came a snowy white owl with peculiar spectacles. It opened its mouth to speak.

> _ You figured it out, Hermione! You saved us all. That piece of paper Ron and I found in your hand? That was the key. It was everything. And as soon as Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout get the mandrakes ready, you’ll be awake. _
> 
> _ Everyone thinks I’m the hero, but it’s really you. Without you and that paper, we wouldn’t have been able to figure out it was a basilisk or that it was traveling through the pipes. And I definitely would be dead right now if it weren’t for you figuring out that looking at a basilisk could kill you. _
> 
> _ But let me start at the beginning. I know you’re probably dying to know what happened - oy, that was kind of in bad form, wasn’t it. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.  _
> 
> _ Ron said he told you about Aragog and all that. I’ve never seen him so pale, even when he was throwing up slugs. He was utterly terrified.  _
> 
> _ I guess I’ll start when we visited you and found your note in your hand. Ginny had been acting really weird, but she had been acting weird around me all year, so I didn’t really pay much attention. I mean, I know she fancies me, but it doesn’t really bother me as much as everyone thinks. Honestly, I kind of fancy her too, but don’t you dare tell Ron that. I just wish she could act herself around me. She’s always so nervous. Maybe that will change now with everything that happened.  _
> 
> _ So the morning when we found the paper in your hand, we actually weren’t coming to visit you. Madam Pomfrey had already shut down the hospital wing to visitors, but we were out in the corridor where all of the attacks happened because we were on our way to talk to Moaning Myrtle about what we heard from Aragog. McGonagall found us, and we used you as an excuse, and she let us in to see you. _
> 
> _ As soon as I saw that in your hand, it seemed to all click in my head. I was like, “This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber’s a basilisk — a giant serpent! That’s why I’ve been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It’s because I understand Parseltongue… The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one’s died — because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified. Justin … Justin must’ve seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn’t die again … and you and the Ravenclaw prefect were looking through that mirror you had in your hand... And then the whole thing about how the crowing of a rooster was fatal: Hagrid’s roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn’t want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! Spiders flee before it! It all fit!  _
> 
> _ And then I saw that you had written ‘pipes’ on the paper, and it all made perfect sense: the basilisk was moving around the castle in the pipes, and the Chamber opening was probably Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom since that’s where she was probably killed. She just stayed there, for the most part.  _
> 
> _ So we were going to tell McGonagall. We really were. We weren’t going to try to do it on our own. We were on our way to the staff room when an announcement filled the entire school telling everyone to report back to the Common Rooms immediately. We waited around, though, just to hear what was going on. That’s when we found out Ginny had been taken into the Chamber. Another message was written on the wall: “Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.” _
> 
> _ Of course, Ron and I were horrified. They asked all of the Weasleys to get together so they could tell them too. I was there. And then they expected us all to just sit there in the Common Room doing nothing. I knew we had to do something, and so did Ron. He suggested going to tell Lockhart since we had heard him talking about going to fight Slytherin’s monster. I agreed, only because I couldn’t really think of anything else. _
> 
> _ When we got to his office, though, we caught him packing all of his stuff, the git. He was running away! He was just going to leave us there to deal with everything. Turns out, he’s not as great as you or anyone else thought he was. I’m sorry, Hermione - I know you liked him, but Lockhart is nothing but a big fraud. _
> 
> _ Ron and I cornered him and forced him at wand-point to go with us to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. I used Parseltongue to open it, and then we forced him in first. It was a huge drop. We all fell down, and Ron dropped his wand, and Lockhart took it from him. _
> 
> _ It turns out Lockhart hasn’t done any of what he has said he had. People would tell him the stories, and then he’d erase their memories and act like the story was his own. The only thing Lockhart is good at is memory charms. He tried to wipe our memories, but Ron’s wand backfired, and he completely zapped his own brain. Can’t remember a thing. Probably the best thing to come out of this whole thing if you ask me. Sorry, but it’s true, Hermione. _
> 
> _ When he tried to wipe our memories, the tunnel we were in collapsed with the rebounding spell, so Ron and I were split up. I told him to go get help, and I went further into the very long, dimly lit chamber.  _
> 
> _ The first thing I saw was Ginny. She was on the ground and not moving. I thought she was dead. And then I noticed Tom. He seemed to appear out of nowhere and just standing there, not doing anything. Something seemed off, but I didn’t care. I ran over to Ginny to see if I could help her. She was barely breathing. I tried to lift her up but couldn’t. I asked Tom to help but… but then I realized he had my wand. I must have put it down when I tried to lift her up. I asked him for my wand back, but I still knew something wasn’t right. Tom just seemed… different. _
> 
> _ And then he got this strange look on his face and started saying all kinds of crazy things about Ginny and the diary and how it was Ginny who opened the Chamber of Secrets… and then… then he told me... _
> 
> _ Tom Riddle is Voldemort! Tom - or Voldemort, I guess - was controlling her. I was really scared, but he gave me, like, ten minutes to think of what to do because he was intent on telling me his whole plan. I kept trying to stall him while I tried to figure out what I could do. I decided that I’d do whatever it took to save Ginny, even if that meant having the Basilisk follow me. I figured if I could keep the snake preoccupied with running around the pipes long enough, Ron may have time to go get help or something. I was desperate, Hermione. I’m sure you would have had a better plan, but that’s all I could think of.  _
> 
> _ I was just about to start running around when Fawkes, Dumbledore’s Phoenix, flew into the chamber and dropped the Sorting Hat right next to me. I was really confused, but I couldn’t really think too much about it because Tom was suddenly summoning the Basilisk. I could hear it slithering through the pipes. I shut my eyes and just started to run blindly. I thought Fawkes had flown away, but then I heard this awful noise. I tripped and felt something heavy hit me. I couldn’t help it. I had to open my eyes and see what had happened. _
> 
> _ It was Fawkes! He was attacking the Basilisk’s eyes! The Basilisk was blinded! I could finally look at it without being petrified or killed! _
> 
> _ But it was trying to attack me. It couldn’t see me, but it could still smell me. I kept dodging it and running, but I was getting tired. I thought I was a goner, to be honest. I kept wishing and hoping something or someone would help me. If I could just hold on a little longer, maybe Ron would have had time to go get help.  _
> 
> _ The snake was moving all over the place. At one point, his tail hit the Sorting Hat, and it slid across the Chamber to my feet. I was about to kick it out of my way when I realized it looked a little misshapen. I reached down to grab it - it was way heavier than it was before. I looked inside… and there was the Sword of Gryffindor!  _
> 
> _ I pulled it out of the Sorting Hat just as the Basilisk tried to strike. I jumped out of the way just in time. The snake swiped at me again and smacked into the columns in the chamber. I knew it was going to strike again, so I got the sword ready. As soon as the Basilisk attacked, I held up the sword as tightly as I could. _
> 
> _ It worked! I stabbed the Basilisk straight through the top of its head! Unfortunately, one of the fangs got me in the arm. It hurt so bad. I knew I was dying, but the Basilisk was dead, so it didn’t really matter. No one else was going to be hurt by it again. I pulled out the fang, but I could feel the poison running up my arm. It burned, but I was kind of ok with it. I dunno. I didn’t want to die, but I figured maybe I’d get to see my parents or something.  _
> 
> _ But then everything felt… better. I looked down, and Fawkes was there, crying over my arm. You probably already know this, but Phoenix tears have healing properties. Fawkes healed my arm! For a few seconds, I was just so happy that I forgot where I was! _
> 
> _ But then I remembered Tom was still there and I didn’t want him and his stupid diary to trick anyone again. I picked up the Basilisk fang and stabbed the diary with it. It was crazy, Hermione! The diary started to bleed and scream, and Tom started to bleed and scream. Then, all of a sudden, Tom was gone. The diary was still there, bleeding, but it wasn’t moving anymore.  _
> 
> _ It was around that time that Ginny woke up, and we were able to escape back through the way I had come. Ron had moved some of the rocks so we could get through. It was brilliant, Hermione! I wish you were there to see it. _
> 
> _ But I know that you’re going to get better really soon. Professor Sprout is done with the Mandrake Juice, and you and everyone else are going to wake up as soon as she can pass it out. I still have loads to tell you about what Dumbledore said to me and about Malfoy and Dobby, but that all can wait until when you wake up. I’m going to make sure everyone knows that it was you who figured everything out. You’re a hero, Hermione!  _


	18. Hermione's Reward

Everything was still grey… but the greyness started to lighten… slow at first and then faster and faster and faster until it was a blinding white light. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. The light was waving about. It took a moment for it to come into focus. 

A wand.

A wand was waving about in front of her eyes. The tip of the wand was bright white.

She could hear people around her, but their sounds were muffled like she was wearing her Mandrake earmuffs. Hermione squinted against the brightness but still forced her eyes open in spite of it. The bright wand was directly in front of her. Through the muffles, Hermione could hear someone gasp. Suddenly, the wand was gone, but it left a dark “burn mark” in the center of her vision. 

“Hermione!” came a muffled voice to her right. Hermione turned her head to see who had spoken, but her head felt as though it was heavy as a rock. It kind of lobbed to the right without much control. The person’s face was directly in the middle of the burn mark. She shut her eyes and, instead, tried to open her mouth to respond. Her mouth felt as though it was filled with dust. Her lips peeled open with a bit of force, but no sound came out. 

“Hermione?” came the voice again, slightly more clear. 

“I think she’s waking up!” came another voice. It was deeper but had the same excitement.

“Hermione, love, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Hermione croaked. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” repeated the voice, even clearer. Hermione would know that voice anywhere.

“Mum,” Hermione murmured with a crooked smile. She forced herself to open her eyes again. Mary’s anxious face was inches away. A dark, unfocused blob behind her could only be Bert. Hermione narrowed her eyes to attempt to see him more clearly.

“Oh, Hermione, we were so worried about you,” Mary said, stroking Hermione’s hair. 

“I’ll give you some time,” came another voice that Hermione didn’t recognize. She dismissed it. There were more pressing issues.

“How long have I been petrified?” asked Hermione in a gravelly voice.

“A few months now,” Bert said, his voice full of concern.

Hermione’s immediate response was to sit straight up in the hospital bed out of sheer terror, but her body was still stiff, and she only could raise a bit off the pillow. “No! I’ve missed so many classes!”

“It’s ok, Hermione,” said Mary. “That’s the least of your worries!”

“No! I’m never going to be able to pass this term!” Hermione could feel the bubble of anxiety rise within her painfully.

“Honey, relax,” Bert said. “Professor McGonagall will take care of it. You just need to focus on getting better right now.”

Hermione gasped again. “Harry! Ron! Are they--”

“They’re fine,” Mary said. “Actually, Harry was just here before they gave you the, erm, potion, to wake up. He told us you were the one who figured it all out!”

“We’re so proud of you,” Bert added.

“Where is he now?” Hermione asked.

“Madam Pomfrey made him leave before giving you the medicine,” Bert answered. “I think they are all in the, erm, big hall?”

“Great Hall,” Hermione corrected. 

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Bert said. 

“How are you feeling, Miss Granger?” Madam Pomfrey said as she stepped around the partition. 

“I’m ok,” Hermione said. “I feel… heavy.”

“I would suspect as much,” Madam Pomfrey said as she rounded the bed to stand opposite Hermione's parents. “You were a stone statue for months on end.” Madam Pomfrey pulled out her wand. “Lumos,” she murmured and held the wand in front of Hermione’s face. Hermione squinted against the bright light for the second time in as many minutes. “Good, good,” Madam Pomfrey said, though Hermione didn’t know what was “good” about squinting. “You’re coming along quite nicely. You took to the Mandrake Juice well. No lasting effects of the petrification, I’d say. Just a bit of drowsiness and fatigue is all. Maybe a wee bit of gravel when you blow your nose for a few weeks. Do you have any questions for me?” Madam Pomfrey looked to Bert and Mary.

“Erm,” Bert started, clearly hung up on the gravel part.

“No, everything is fine,” Hermione insisted eagerly. “When can I go back to class and see my friends?”

“I can’t see why you can’t as soon as you feel up to it,” Madam Pomfrey said with a relieved grin. “You and all of the other students are doing so well.”

“Thank you for all you have done,” Hermione said. “I know how complicated the Mandrake Draught can be to brew.”

“I’m just glad it worked,” Madam Pomfrey smiled. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I need to move on to the next family.”

Madam Pomfrey disappeared behind the sheet. 

“She must be going over to the Creevey’s,” Bert said. “Your mum and I have been spending most of our time with them.” Bert lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m sure the other families and students are lovely, but it was nice to have another down to earth Muggle family to talk to. All Mrs. Finch-Fletchley wanted to do was talk about all of the famous people she knew. It was quite exhausting.”

Hermione grinned. “Their son, Justin, is the same way.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Mary said with a smile. 

Hermione felt significantly lighter and moved to sit up in the hospital bed. Mary, almost as if by magic, produced a second pillow to place behind that.

“Where did you get that so quickly?” asked Hermione.

“Madam Pomfrey keeps extra pillows under the bed,” Mary explained.

“Wait, how long have you been here?” Hermione asked, “that you know where extra pillows are being kept?”

“We’ve been visiting at least three times a week. Most of the time, more,” Bert said to Hermione’s astonishment.

“What?!” Hermione said in surprise. “That’s absurd! What about the practice?”

“You are certainly much more important than dentistry,” Bert said warmly.

“And besides,” Mary said. “We’ve certainly enjoyed our time learning more about the Wizarding World.”

“How do you get into the castle?” asked Hermione. “Because, according to  _ Hogwarts: A History _ , the castle is protected against Muggles seeing it. It looks--”

“Looks like it’s in ruins and has a sign that says, ‘ _ DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE,’”  _ Mary finished. “Yes, that’s exactly correct. However, Professor McGonagall met us each day at the sign and escorted us into the castle.”

“Imagine our surprise when we walked inside!” Bert added.

“No wonder you love it here,” Mary said. “It’s absolutely stunning. The architecture is brilliant. And the magic… it hums here.”

“A constant hum,” agreed Bert. “It’s hard to describe… but I can see its appeal.”

“Professor McGonagall has been simply brilliant,” Mary continued. “She has answered all of our questions and even a few that we didn’t even know we had. You are so lucky to have her as a teacher and mentor, Hermione, and we are so lucky to have her watching over you here at school. You can’t even begin to imagine how frightening it was for us to know our only daughter was hurt but not to understand the magic behind it. We were completely helpless. Professor McGonagall helped to ease our fears and kept us calm.”

“Exactly,” Bert said. “My plan was to take you home once you got better and never let you come back.” Hermione gasped. Bert continued. “But I know that Professor McGonagall will always protect you. You may get petrified along the way, but she will always keep you safe.”

“We are forever in her debt,” Mary said with tears in her eyes but, being the Brit she was, she took a deep breath and smiled. “She is a wonderful teacher.”

“She really is,” Hermione agreed. Suddenly, the Grangers heard someone clearing their throat behind the curtain. Not a second later, Professor McGonagall popped into the sectioned off area. Hermione couldn’t tell for sure if Professor McGonagall had heard them talk about her, but the misty eyes of her favourite professor seemed to confirm her suspicions.

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said with a rare smile. “I am so pleased to see you awake.”

“Thank you, professor,” Hermione said.

“Hogwarts has definitely felt the absence of her smartest student,” the professor said with a wink. “I could barely get anyone to answer questions in class. Again.”

“About that, Professor,” Hermione started. “I know I have missed so much class--”

“You do not need to worry about it, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall interrupted. “You will pass your second year regardless of the work you’ve missed. In fact, all students will be passing this year.”

“But I’d like to complete the work,” Hermione insisted, focusing only on the first half of Professor McGonagall’s answer. “I need to complete the work.”

“Surely you can, Miss Granger, but, perhaps, at your own pace,” Professor McGonagall said. “It’s almost the end of term. There’s really no way for you to complete all of the work in this time frame.”

Hermione’s lip quivered. She could feel the ball of anxiety rising and fighting against the lingering tightness of her chest from being petrified for so long. “But I need to be prepared for next term,” she said slowly as not to let her voice break. “I need to--” Hermione stopped herself. What she wanted to say was, “I need to be the smartest witch, not the Mudblood,” but she didn’t trust herself. Hermione never wanted to be singled out for being Muggle-born again. The only way she knew how to do that was to make sure she knew more than the best witch out there. She would pour all of her energy into learning absolutely everything she could so she would never ever be hurt again. 

Professor McGonagall could see Hermione’s struggle and sighed. “Very well, Miss Granger. But let’s discuss your options after you recuperate fully and get back to classes. There may be other ways of accomplishing your goal.”

“I’m ready to leave now,” Hermione said with a surge of hope.

“Why don’t you rest a little longer,” Mary said.

“But I’m fine, Mum,” Hermione said, sitting straight up. “See?”

“I have an idea, but there are a few things I have to look into before we can discuss this fully,” said Professor McGonagall. “Let’s plan to revisit this in a few days.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said, feeling slightly more at ease. If anyone could make sure Hermione could get her school work done, it was Professor McGonagall.

“Right. Now that’s settled,” Professor McGonagall. “I’ll let you all catch up. I have to get to the Great Hall for the feast.”

“Feast?” Hermione said.

“We’re having a celebratory feast,” Professor McGonagall answered with slight hesitation. She knew she probably shouldn’t have said anything.

“I want to go to the feast,” Hermione said, confirming Professor McGonagall’s suspicions. Hermione noticed her parents cringing. “Mum, Dad. I’m ok. I’m feeling loads better. Besides, it’s almost the end of term, and I will be spending all summer with you. I want to be able to be with my friends for as long as possible.”

With a heavy sigh, Bert nodded his head. He put his hand on Mary’s shoulder, which had stiffened in haste at Hermione’s insistence to leave them so soon after waking. “I doubt we’d be able to say anything to change her mind, love,” he said softly. “Besides,” he continued with a smile, “we’d have to put up with her complaining about it all summer.”

“I would not,” Hermione said indignantly. 

“You most certainly would, Hermione Jean Granger,” Mary said with a laugh. “Fine, fine, I get it. You don’t want to hang out with your old mum and dad.”

“No, it’s not that at all,” Hermione started.

“I’m just being cheeky,” Mary said. “Go. Be with your friends.” Hermione flashed her a huge smile. “Wait a minute. Something’s different with your teeth!”

\-----

It took Hermione a tad bit longer than usual to get out of bed and into new clothes (and dodge her parents’ questions about her teeth). The school uniform she had been petrified in was, it turned out, a large part of the problem: it was as unmoving as thick leather and quite tricky to get out of. 

According to Madam Pomfrey, the feast was shaping up to be a very informal affair - most of the students, being awoken with the good news of the slaying of Slytherin’s monster, just shuffled down to the Great Hall in their pajamas to celebrate.

Bert and Mary helped Hermione into her favourite maroon and gold striped pajamas she had ordered from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions (Hermione had splurged on the special treat for herself when she had passed Professor Binns’ extremely difficult midterm exam… which seemed like a lifetime ago). The smooth, cool silk felt luxurious on her skin, which was extremely dried out. Before she left the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey brought over some lotion, which was a considerable relief… but not as big of a relief it was to walk the familiar corridors of Hogwarts again.

Hermione’s heart began to swell as she neared the Great Hall. Her ears rung with the sounds of laughter and clanging plates from down the hall. She threw open the large, heavy wooden doors with all of her might. Before her, there was what would go down in Hogwarts’ history as the biggest feast ever. With the exception of most of the Slytherin table, pajama-clad students were sitting everywhere, regardless of their House. 

Hermione scanned the room and came upon Harry and Ron at once. They were both in the center of the Gryffindor table, though surrounded by Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws alike. Hermione’s heart swelled with pride - they had figured it out!

“You solved it!” Hermione yelled as she rushed to Harry and Ron’s side. “You solved it!” Harry immediately grabbed her into a tight hug. Nothing felt more right in her life. Ron awkwardly patted her back in total Ron fashion - which would have been annoying under any other circumstance - but Hermione knew he meant well. She flashed Ron a bright smile and re-welcomed the feeling of being at home.

As the boys gorged on as much food as they could, Hermione took a bite here and there. She was surprised that she wasn't hungry after weeks of petrification, but, perhaps, her stomach wasn’t ready for the decadence of the feast just yet. Ron and Harry filled her ears instead with all of their antics while she was in the hospital wing. She had the odd feeling of deja vu; she had heard it all in a dream while she was petrified.

Ginny was a few seats down from Ron and Harry. Hermione kept trying to catch her eye, but Ginny kept turning away. Finally, Hermione got up and plopped down next to Ginny. “Oh, Hermione,” Ginny whispered. “I am so sorry.” Just as she seemed to remember Harry and Ron’s stories, Ginny’s voice was another memory of her stoned dreams.

“It wasn’t your fault!” Hermione said sternly. “I don’t blame you in the least.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” Hermione said. “You were possessed. That’s a fact. Facts can’t be disputed.” Hermione smiled. “Plus, you’re my friend, and I can’t be mad at my friends.”

Ginny smiled widely, and her shoulders seemed to drop. Hermione knew Ginny wasn’t one to show emotion and accepted it as a proper response. Their moment was interrupted by Justin Finch-Fletchley, nearly knocking them off the bench in his haste to make his way to Harry to shake his hand.

“Kind of sorry Madam Pomfrey gave him some Mandrake juice so quickly,” Ginny said in a whisper. “He could have done well with a bit more time as an oversized paperweight.” Hermione stifled a laugh. Ginny turned and grinned. “That was wildly inappropriate, especially coming from me.”

Hermione let out a laugh. “That’s what makes it perfect,” she said. “And I, as a former oversized paperweight, concur.”

Everyone settled back into eating and celebrating for a few minutes before another interruption - this time a very welcomed one - rushed over to the table. The half-giant was beaming from ear to ear as he shuffled down the line between the tables. 

“Ya diddit!” Hagrid cried, cuffing Harry and Ron on the shoulders so hard they were knocked into their plates of truffle. Thankfully, Hagrid gave Hermione a ginger hug instead. “They let me out, they did!” He beamed, though Hermione couldn’t help notice Hagrid’s eyes bouncing around with lingering anxiety and fear. She didn’t know much about Azkaban, but she knew enough to know it was a horribly dreadful place. Hermione couldn’t imagine how terrifying it’d be to survive a place like that and be expected to blend right back into society. She knew she was already overwhelmed with the feast and she was only just petrified. Hermione made a mental note to visit Hagrid’s hut at the first possible time. 

“If I could please have your attention,” came a commanding yet genial voice from the front of the Great Hall. Hermione’s eyes rested upon Professor Dumbledore immediately. His deep purple robes and half-moon spectacles seemed even more impressive in the flickering fireworks on the enchanted sky of the Great Hall.

“I will be brief, for there is so much more to celebrate. However, I wanted to take a moment to formally welcome back some of our beloved friends: Colin Creevery, Justin Finch-Fletchery, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, Penelope Clearwater, and Hermione Granger.”

The Great Hall erupted in cheers. Hermione felt her face flush hot as all eyes at the Gryffindor table turned to her. The thunderous applause enveloped Hermione in a warm hug. She didn’t necessarily like to be the center of attention, but it was absolutely wonderful to feel loved and appreciated finally. Regardless of her blood status, Hermione knew her fellow wizards cared, and that’s all that mattered.

Over the din of the clapping came a strangled, angry voice. “Don’t forget Mrs. Norris!” yelled Filch from the doorway. In his arms was a very angry Mrs. Norris. Her fur was standing completely on end as if she had put her tail into a muggle electrical outlet. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the cartoonish image before her.

“Of course! And Mrs. Norris as well! I’m sure we’ve all missed her presence in the corridors,” Dumbledore added. The Weasley twins rolled their eyes in annoyance, snapping Hermione out of her spell with a hearty laugh. 

“None of our friends would be here with us this evening if it weren’t for the bravery and cunning of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to whom I award 200 points each.”

“400 points!” screamed Parvati (who had just come over to give Hermione a big hug). “That clinches it! Gryffindor will win the house cup no matter what happens the rest of term!” she screamed. The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers again (though Hermione noticed the cheers for her recovery were slightly more exuberant, which made her smile all over again).

Once again, the cheers died down slightly for Dumbledore to speak again. “Additionally, Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout should be commended for their hard work and dedication to brewing the Mandrake Potion to save our friends as well.” The Great Hall filled with applause once again. 

“If you’ll indulge me for just a few moments longer, I have two more announcements,” Dumbledore continued. “First, I am saddened to report that Professor Lockhart had an unfortunate encounter with a broken wand and memory charm. He will not be returning for the rest of the term, and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes are subsequently canceled until a replacement can be found.”

This particular announcement brought a mixture of responses and reactions from the students and staff. Half of the room, including Harry and Ron, erupted into cheers. “Shame,” Ron said, his mouth stuffed with jam doughnut. “He was starting to grow on me.” His sarcasm was palpable.

Others, like Parvati and Lavender, gasped in horror. Hermione, frankly, didn’t know how to feel. Her heart ached with the thought of never seeing his beautiful wavy blonde hair, but her mind felt no remorse at all. He was a cheat and an imposter, and Hermione had absolutely no room in her life for such nonsense. Realizing her petrified dreams were, most likely, real conversations, she realized Professor Lockhart was not who she thought he was. Hermione was sure she would antagonize over being duped for so long, but she had noticed Professor McGonagall getting up for the next announcement, and the thought left her head.

“To coincide with the headmaster’s announcement of the cancelation of all Defence Against the Dark Arts classes and to celebrate our school’s victory over the Chamber of Secrets’ Monster, all exams are hereby canceled for this school year.”

The noise was deafening. It took Hermione a few moments to even register what Professor McGonagall had said. All exams. Canceled. Hermione’s heart sunk. “Oh no!” she exclaimed.

Apparently, she had said it a bit louder than she thought because Harry and Ron’s heads whipped round to her. “Are you seriously upset we won’t be having exams?” Ron said incredulously. “Blimey, you’re such a bookworm.”

Ron’s goofy grin indicated he was only joking and brought a small smile to Hermione’s lips through the bubbling of anxiety she felt over the cancelation of all exams.

The students and staff partied for hours. By the time Hermione got back to her dormitory, she was ready to sleep (even though she just slept for weeks). After a moment to marvel at the softness of her pillow, Hermione closed her eyes, dreaming of stone statues and exams. 

\-----

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal, and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again and had begun to spend much more time with Hermione, much to Ron’s dismay.

Hermione was one of the few students who continued attending classes. Without the threat of the end of the year exams, no one found it necessary to show up. To their credit, the professors, for the most part, taught their nearly empty classrooms like they were full of students. Hermione preferred the smaller class sizes and, at times, one on one lessons. 

After an incredibly insightful Transfiguration lesson with Professor McGonagall, she asked Hermione to stay after class. Luckily, she only had to wait for Parvati, Padma, and Anthony Goldstein (a Ravenclaw) to leave.

“Miss Granger, I have done some research into the idea I had about you completing the work you missed while you were petrified,” Professor McGonagall said, perching herself on the corner of her desk. “You have done a tremendous job of catching up so far, but I know how much you love learning new things and how important it is for you to learn as much as wizardly possible.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said.

“I have conversed with some colleagues at the Ministry of Magic about your situation and made sure to let them know it was really you who solved the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, and they reluctantly agreed to my idea. Think of this as a sort of secret reward for service to the Ministry.”

Hermione was on the edge of her seat. She could tell Professor McGonagall was equally as excited, though trying to contain herself. “But before I continue,” Professor McGonagall said with a stern edge to her voice, “you have to understand that what I am about to give you is extremely dangerous and highly unorthodox and that no one, under any circumstance, should know about this item… Especially Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Do you understand, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione squeaked.

“I need you to give me your word.”

“You have my word, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said with all the sincerity she could muster.

“Very well.” The Professor stalked behind her desk and opened the side drawer. Hermione’s eyes widened as her favourite professor pulled a peculiar box out of the drawer. The box was clear with a dark wood frame. Hermione couldn’t quite see the item within the box, but it appeared to shimmer in the light streaming down from the windows. 

Professor McGonagall took her place back in front of Hermione, perched on her desk. “This, Miss Granger, is called a Time-Turner. A Time-Turner is a magical device used for time travel. As you can see,” she continued, taking the gold item out of the box carefully, “the physical vessel is a gold hourglass necklace. Encased within the hourglass is the Hour-Reversal charm enchanted by the Ministry of Magic. 

“It is imperative to understand that time-related magic is unstable, and serious breaches in the laws of time result in catastrophic events. Possible scenarios include a wizard or witch killing their past or future selves by mistake or altering one's life path in such a drastic fashion that it can result in temporal anomalies such as un-births. As such, the Ministry of Magic seeks the strictest guarantees if it permits the use of Time-Turners: Time-Turner possession is hedged around with literally hundreds of laws, and the most stringent laws and penalties are in place to prevent their misuse. According to Professor Croaker’s law, the longest period that can be traveled back in time without a severe chance of harm to the traveler or time itself is around five hours.

“However,” Professor McGonagall continued to a very wide-eyed Hermione, “The Ministry of Magic has been known to grant the use of Time-Turners to very special witches or wizards who demonstrate the utmost respect for rules and a deep desire for learning. I can easily argue the case of both of those attributes for you, Miss Granger, and have. Therefore, the Ministry of Magic has granted you the use of this Time-Turner for the summer and following school year on the conditional basis that you will only use it for educational purposes. Do you understand?”

Hermione was too shocked to say anything. Instead, she just nodded her head. “Right, then,” Professor McGonagall said with a curt nod. “I have already taken the liberty of signing you up for all of the courses available for third-year students. Since most overlap, you will have to utilize the Time-Turner to attend your classes. One turn will take you back one hour. Two turns are two hours, and so on and so forth. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so,” Hermione said in a squeaky voice.

“You may also use it over the summer holiday, if necessary, to finish your studies you missed this year. I will visit your house in July to administer all exams you would have taken this year unless, of course, you have changed your mind about those.”

“Definitely not, Professor,” Hermione said earnestly.

“It’s settled then. Let me once again remind you that you are to not, under any circumstances, tell anyone about this Time-Turner.”

Hermione knew Professor McGonagall was talking about Harry and Ron again specifically. “Yes, Professor.”

“And please, prior to using the Time-Turner, read this brochure assigned by the Ministry of Magic concerning all of the rules and regulations associated with its use.” Professor McGonagall handed the box and pamphlet to Hermione.

Hermione slid the box open with shaky hands and removed the delicate, yet hefty, necklace to examine it. Along one of the golden rings circling the hourglass, it read, “I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, Are gauged by what you have to do."

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Hermione said, her eyes welling up. The shock of everything was almost too much to comprehend. 

“You’re quite welcome, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said softly. “I know how much learning about the Wizarding World means to you, especially now after your status has been brought into question because of your lineage. Trust me when I say you are a better wizard than most purebloods, but I know you need to prove that to yourself. I just hope that this reward will help you to realize your full potential.”

Hermione was overcome with emotion and, without a second thought, ran over to Professor McGonagall and gave her a giant, Hagrid-worthy hug. To her surprise, the stern professor returned it, albeit quickly, before dismissing Hermione for the day.

\-----

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione, Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Hermione could feel the Time-Turner bouncing beneath her shirt but resisted the urge to show her friends.

They were almost at King’s Cross when Harry spoke up.

“Ginny — what did you see Percy doing that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?”

“Oh, that,” said Ginny, giggling. “Well — Percy’s got a girlfriend.”

Fred dropped a stack of books on George’s head.

“What?”

“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was — you know — attacked. You won’t tease him, will you?” she added anxiously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

“Definitely not,” said George, sniggering. Hermione knew there was absolutely no way the twins wouldn’t mercilessly tease Percy all summer now.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped. Hermione tried not to cry.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

“This is called a telephone number,” he said, mostly to Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer — he’ll know. Call me at the Dursleys’, okay? I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to.” Hermione smiled. She knew she’d be calling very often.

“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. “When they hear what you did this year?

“Proud?” said Harry. “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? They’ll be furious. …”

And together, they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world. 


End file.
